


Predators of The Snow

by orphan_account



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Dominant Michael, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Highschool AU, Hurt, I'm nervous, I'm sorrynotsorry, Implied Sexual Content, Investigating like scooby doo sometimes, Lots of flirting from Mikey, Lots of things happen, M/M, Michael thinks thats funny, Non-Canon Relationship, On Hiatus, That's a really bad title i'm sorry, Thats a lot of tags, Trevor is confused about emotions, Trevor is scared omg, Violence, Weird principal, this is my first fic, youre welcome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-04-27 23:52:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5069743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trevor never liked the snow. He never liked school. He never liked the idea of 'friends.' He never liked anything. But this school year was really turning into something strange. An odly attractive Jock, a biker gang, a creeper principal... He couldn't tell if he liked it or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning of Bullshit

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first fic. I desperately wanted to make this chapter longer, but I couldn't figure out how. Honestly, I think this isn't that great... Chapter two will hopefully be better. This one is mainly a character development. Again, I'm sorry you have to read this gross garbage about Tenn trashdads.

Trevor didn't like the snow. In fact, he despised it. He hated how perfect it was, how each little snowflake was 'unique', how it was absolutely gorgeous and yet, it could take the lives of hundreds if there was too much of it's beauty for the planet earth to handle. He hated how alone he felt in the snow, remembering cold nights sitting on the steps of his trailer while his mother and father talked, how his snot nearly froze to his nose and how annoying his chattering teeth was. 

He hated that the last time he saw his ass-hat of a father was when he decided to sexually assaulted Trevor's gorgeous flower of a mother. Trevor didn't let him, of course. His mother had an awful day to begin with and she was finally able to rest for the first time in weeks. He tried to stand up to his father, but damn, of he was only six feet taller. Trevor was eight by then. A fragile age on it's own.

He never went into what happened and he certainly wouldn't now. But he had violent memories. Screaming, kicking at his intoxicated and most likely high as a kite father. The pain all over his body as he was struck repeatedly with a lamp. A goddamn lamp. He could have lived with the bruises, the scars, both mental and physical. He could have lived with the fact that his father was found dead a few weeks later... If his mother hadn't blamed it on him. 

His mother, his lovely but damaged orchid, was actually heartbroken to hear about his father's death which was later found out to be suicide. That was when Trevor told her, told her what that awful man did to him. He cried to her. He had been hiding the information from her, afraid his parent's would fight again. His mother clenched her beer bottle tight in her hand, looking very angry, burning with hatred even. Finally, she believed him. He had stepped toward her, wanting nothing more than a hug, kiss on the cheek, comforting words, you know. Love. 

No. She smashed the bottle against his face, earning him some lovely cuts on his left eye brow that bleed for quite a while. The cuts had actually formed scars, which he still had now. 

"You disrespectful shit! Your father, the man who provided for you is dead and you tell me he did /that/ to you?! How am I supposed to believe such an ungrateful twat like you?!? Especially after you burned down a supermarket!!" She kicked him while he was down, basically stomping on his gut with her high heel. 

"You useless boy! Ungrateful mistake!! " She said, another barrage of kicks sending pain through his body. He said nothing. He never said anything. She was right. Always right. 

She left the trailer, then. And she never came home. 

Trevor, still nursing his wounds, eyes red from tears and scars on his right eyebrow was frozen in shock at the sight on the TV that day. 

"Betty Philips was arrested today for the murder of her husband, Roger Philips, who was thought to have committed suicide. Mrs. Philips stumbled into the North Yankton police department yesterday night, yelling and profusely crying as she repeatedly claimed to have been responsible for her husband's death. Further investigation will continue, but as far as the police department is concerned, she is facing life in prison. "

No. She didn't do it. No, it was his fault. Trevor Philips should be there, not her. Trevor turned to his brother who sat on the floor, despair in his voice as he asked if he was indeed seeing this. 

Ryan Philips was thirteen years old, already an alcoholic and no where near getting a job. How he was even able to accumulate alcohol was being comprehension. He was the spitting image of their father, which pissed Trevor off. He would often treat Trevor like trash, which the younger of the two was fairly used to. 

Ryan simply sighed. "Too bad. "

Too bad. Too fucking bad was all he said. All he fucking said. 

Fucking Ryan. 

Since then, the two were forced to depend on each other. Ryan told Trevor to go get some food quite often, Trevor replied 'how', Ryan said 'steal some'. And that was their routine they kept to until Trevor was the ripe age of seventeen. Nine years of hell with his now twenty three year old brother. It was like living with dirty garbage hidden where you couldn't find it and it gave a sickening smell. It was fucking torture for Trevor. 

He began spending his days wandering about town. When he wasn't mooching beer off of depressed adults, he was stealing wallet's and picking fights with the local biker gang. The 'North Yankton Polar Bears.' It was seriously such a bad name, Trevor wanted to cry in absolute shame. They sounded like a football team. Except, the football team of the school which he liked to avoid actually had a decent name. 'North Yankton Snow Sharks.' It sounded more fierce, more intimidating. A snow shark would be a very cool thing to witness. A water predator able to live within the snow...

Trevor was startled by a sudden slap of papers on the kitchen table he sat at. He glanced down at them, an eyebrow raised. In bold letter's, it read 'School Sign up'. Something along the lines at least. 

" What the fuck is this?" His brown, almost red eyes glanced up at his older brother, Ryan, who was recovering from a recent blackout in some whores breasts. 

" The admission sheets for school this year. You need to sign a few of them. " Ryan stated with tired distaste. 

" Why bother? I barely go to school and when I do, I 'cause nothing but trouble, but can actually accumulate a good grade'. What's the point of going? " He remarked with a sneer that quickly morphed into a smile. 

Ryan gripped his shirt and pulled him close, the smell of alcohol and something else filling Trevor's nose. 

" Because I'm your legal guardian, because I said so, because I enjoy when you're not here to ruin my life, because I'm tired of your punk-ass attitude. Blaring your shit music in your room or harrassing me for money--" 

" You do the same thing, 'legal guardian" Trevor threatened. 

" Sign. The. Papers." Ryan threatened, letting Trevor go before turning around and stalking back to his room. Nine years of this bullshit. Trevor wonders how he hasn't shot himself yet. He's cut a few times, actually. Not enough to cause a hospital trip and definitely not enough to scar. He's contemplated suicide enough to where it had become an everyday thought in his head. Not /his/ suicide, just suicide in general. 

As he began thinking, he found himself signing the papers with a chewed up pencil, a sigh rolling off of his lips. If he was going to school again, he'd actually make an effort. He'd quit his attitude. He'd get good grades. He'd stop sabotaging the football team. 

He almost laughed at himself. 

He wouldn't do any of that even if you gave him a a good blow job or a hundred dollars. Even so, he'd make this year very, very, very fun.


	2. Winter Rules The School

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put up chapter two already because I actually like it and it was finished already, so, enjoy my crap.

Summer came and went for Trevor. He really didn't have much to do the whole time other than pester the Polar Bear Biker fucks and steal a couple wallet's. Arguments with Ryan were common, however, it never really escalated past harsh words regardless of how badly Trevor wanted to rip out that blonde fuckers' throat. He always swallowed his anger before things got too bad, stepped outside or in his room and took his anger out on the wall or the snow covered ground. 

Now school had started. He could take his anger out on kids who probably didn't deserve it but would be punished anyways. As he approached the school archway that was in no shape or form considered fancy, he felt himself cringe at the sound of girls swooning over the famous Jockies. Famous for what, he'd never understand. All they did was throw balls at each other while wearing tight pants that were covered in grass stains. It wouldn't surprise him if they had circle jerks to celebrate whenever they'd won a game or they had to let their coach smack their ass as a congratulations. He chuckled at the thought, shaking his head, his dark, messy and long hair covering his face a bit as he slowly walked forward into the institute known as Ludendorff High. This place was a fucking nightmare, he could already smell it. Literally. He could always smell the cafeteria, whatever glop they were serving and all. The most expensive piles of shit ever. Their food costs actual money now-a-days, which Trevor didn't care for. He often went days without eating. 

The buildings were practically falling apart. Bricks were haphazardly sticking out of the walls, beams were covered in mold and they moaned at the slighted bit of pressure. One bad blizzard and the buildings would topple down for sure. As much as Trevor liked the idea, he really didn't want his death to be from a shit highschool building that fell down because someone sneezed really hard. There's was a statue in the middle, which was the most depressing peice of could-be art. It adorned a massive shark, stripes on it's sides spelling 'Snow Sharks' if you had the eye to see it. However, it was covered in snow and cracks. It's teeth were either chipped or completely gone and It's right fin was completely gone. It depressed Trevor a bit. Such a magnificent animal was stuck in an environment it wasn't meant to be in, slowly chipping away at the will of those around it, it's teeth longing yet never tasting freedom. It reminded Trevor of himself in some aspects. Trapped. Confused. Hungry. Out of place.

The sharp ringing of the school bell snapped him out of his thoughts and back to the world he hated being in. He glanced around with his eyes, drinking in the different people as they went towards their respective home rooms. Everyone bad a place. Everyone had something that announced themselves. And so, noses high and red in the chilling breeze, they ignored the gutter rat of a teenager, some even offering jabs of insults as they passed. Others quietly commented on his appearance, wondering why he was there at all. Others didn't even realize he existed. 

This was school for Trevor. No one knew he was there until he made himself known. It was the smidge of originality that he clung to so desperately. He couldn't stand the idea of being one of them, following along like sheep in a field, their principal the shepherd. 

As for Trevor, well... He was the wolf that tore at the weak and frail, those who have managed to sneak lower than himself. He'd pick his way into the herd, dragging down anyone who got to curious. And how he longed to sink his teeth into the shepherd's cocky neck...

His thoughts were interrupted again as he felt a hard body smash into him. He was barely able to keep balance as he went quite a ways away from where he was originally standing, a sudden stab of anger in his chest. 

"What the fuck?!" He spat, glaring literally up at the very tall Jockie who rammed into him. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. This guy was nothing but muscle. He definitely towered over the poor kid and he easily had over a hundred pounds on him. But this asshole, ohohoho... He needed to exercise his manners. 

"Do you want to apologize, steroids?" The dark haired male said calmly, receiving a snort from the taller male. 

"Why on earth would I apologize to such a fucking punk like you?" The blonde male snapped. He already looked ready to hurt someone and now he was prone to explode. Beautiful. 

"Why? Huh, well, even a 'fucking punk' like myself was raised with manners, Cupcake. What, did your coach forget to teach you some when he was jamming his thumb up your ass?" Trevor felt himself lifting off the ground as the jock seized him by the collar, bringing him very close to his face. This guy smelled of cheap alcohol. He raised a fist, eager to smash it into Trevor's face, the smaller male offering nothing but a calm smile. 

Suddenly, a hand pulled the tall Jocks arm down. "Hey, Brad. Knock it off, C'mon, it's the first fucking day. Relax." 

The kid who entered the scene was shorter than 'Brad', perhaps even a centimeter or so shorter that Trevor himself. He had dark, almost black hair that was slicked back with a gel that the young male could practically smell. Or perhaps that was just his cologne. This guy had gleaming green eyes and a letterman. A fucking letterman. Trevor had no trouble figuring out that this guy was the quarterback. What a sad reality. 

"Fuck off, Michael, this little bitch deserves it." Brad spat, a glare still burning into Trevor's face as he set the smaller male down. 

"No one deserves it, Brad. You're overreacting. Let's go. We've got class." Michael said calmly, almost boredly as if he had diffused this bomb so many times before. Said Bomb growled violently, turning and stomping back to the swarm of Jockies, the herd of testosterone all collectively and mentally killing Trevor with their eyes as they continued to laugh and bark stories at each other, their feet stomping like quarter horse hooves as they made their way upstairs. 

What a bunch of fucking--

"Hey. I'm sorry about that, alright? I don't know what's wrong with him lately." Michael's voice chimed as he gave Trevor an earnest stare, his green eyes filled with caution and strength. 

"Oh, fuck off, you highschool cliché. He wouldn't have done jack shit. And neither will you." Trevor spat as he leered close to the quarterback, brown eyes filled with want for a fight. God, he wanted to hit this little fucker, he really, really did. Michael raised his hands in sudden defense, but his face portrayed anger. 

"Hey! I don't need that talk coming from you, you little prick!!"

"And why not, Steroids?!"

"Because I've got bigger things to worry about other than a mangy asshole picking fights!!"

"What, like waiting for your coach to teach you how to handle balls properly, huh? Betcha real good at that, ain't cha, Cupcake~?" 

"You fucking little--" 

"Townley. Enough." Called a voice from up the stairs. The two glanced up at none other than Principal Winter. A very tall, middle aged male with hair and beard that resembled burnt tobacco. He probably thought he was cool, being in a snowy town with Winters as a last name. His posture said 'confidence' but his eyes said 'I want to kill myself'. He seemed tired in that aspect, which Trevor slightly related to.

"Michael, please. To your classroom."

Michael didn't argue. He simply shot a glare at Trevor before traversing up the steps and past the respected principal. Once the door shut, Winters looked at Trevor, the younger male glaring back. 

"Mr. Philips? I've heard many stories about you. And I will tell you now, I don't like them," He said as he walked down the steps. For an odd reason, Trevor felt his chest tighten up as a foreign feeling enclosed his lungs; Fear. This guy had an overwhelming sense of power and authority, something that Trevor remembered from his mother. It was probably why he suddenly felt afraid, unable to speak as his eyes couldn't focus on the larger males. 

"Mr. Philips, I run a tight school here at Ludendorff High. I have never expelled a student. I have never seen a fight more than once in the same year," he began circling the young male slowly. Like a shark. Trevor felt claustrophobic. He wanted to bolt because, God, being around this man was damn near unbearable. He hadn't been so scared of another male ever in his life. And he was well aware that Winters knew he was afraid. He was swimming in it. 

Trevor felt his breath hitch as Winter's gripped his ear, leaning uncomfortably close to the appendage, his voice dark and unforgiving and, honestly, Trevor was now convinced that this guy has killed people before. 

"I'm not going to let some gutter rat ruin my reputation. You're going to behave like a good boy. Or, we're going to have problems. Am I clear?" Trevor felt himself nod before he even processed what was said. Thankfully, the principal released his ear, pushing him towards the steps and, as if he was given a command to do so, Trevor walked up the stairs and headed for his first classroom, his brain frantically trying to remember exactly what happened to minutes ago. 

Well, there go his plans for dominating the school. 

\--------------------------

The day couldn't have been more boring. Every single one of his classes consisted of Trevor sitting in the very back either observing who he would be stuck with for the rest of the year or sleeping. Of course, the teachers all looked hungover and all they did was announce who they were before telling the class to know their classmate, as if it would help anything. Something else about seating charts rolled out of their mouths but Trevor was usually asleep by then. 

There was one class in which he could not sleep. Last hour, Algebra. To be honest, Trevor actually liked math. He was supremely good at it and it was probably the only class besides art that he always had an 'A' in. With art, well, he was no artist and honestly he barely did any of the work in there. But there was the occasional drawing that came from his pencil that was evidence of how he felt inside. They mostly portrayed anger or sadness or the feeling of alone. Somehow, he'd always manage to slip a hidden wolf or cat or any other animal. That would only be labeled as his happiness. Small. Insignificant. Out of place. Apparently, his occasional art was amazing, as the teacher would accept it and take it as a grade, regardless if it had anything to do with the assignment. Easy 'A'. 

Art was in fifth hour this year and his teacher, Mrs. Ann, was actually very nice. She was gorgeous. Dark, wavy hair with hazel eyes and tall. She was fairly old, but hey, he was a boy and it was natural instinct to flirt with her. However, she really didn't pay attention to him at all today which blew an idea out the window for Trevor. When she did speak to him, however, her voice was soft and soothing. It was a natural mothers voice that he never got to hear growing up. It was probably why he took to her so fast. 

Ah, shit, what was he thinking about? Sixth hour. 

What was so interesting about it was that the short-stock of a Jockie, Michael Townley, was there. Completely diagonal across the room from him. He sat at the very front desk at the far side against the wall, some of his built up friends surrounding him. Trevor was a good seat to look at the older teen, as he was in the very back by the window. 

Yes, the two caught eyes for a moment but merely huffed and looked away rather quickly, Trevor's gaze switching to outside. He eyed the statue on the foyer, the sad, decrepit thing looking alone and cold out there in the wind, much like Trevor felt like now. 

This would be a long year.


	3. Dreams, Sandwiches and Jocks Are Cliche

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Gasp.* Chapter three already?!
> 
> ...
> 
> I have a lot of time during the weekend. 
> 
> During the parts where it gets very lazy and it isn't written well, you can blame that on me being up late and not caring anymore. 
> 
> Warning: Michael is kinda depressing during this chapter but he'll get better I promise don't shoot me.

_It's dark and cold and his breath was formed into a smoke in front of him, like a draw of a cigarette. Except his puffs were rapid. There was no warmth and his body felt numb, yet from the scenery whizzing behind him and the way the cold, snowy air burnt his lungs, he could tell he was running. His pathway was lit with a light that wasn't exactly still. Someone called his name with hostility and determination and he could hear their footsteps close behind him. A sudden fear pinched his heart, his legs pumping as they overworked themselves in an attempt to go faster, to carry their owner to safety. The irresistible fear kept rising in his stomach as those footsteps that seemed to echo just got closer much faster than seemingly possible. Suddenly, the ground gave way underneath him and it only took him a few moments to realize he was falling. The ground below him was coming fast. Rocks were either sharp or coated in blood, as if someone had fell right before he did. He could hear himself screaming out of sheer desperation of survival, to hold onto that life he he always seemed to hate._

_'So, why hold onto it either way? Why keep your fingers tight on something you've always despised?'_

_Maybe because he felt like it. Maybe because he was scared. Maybe because this wasn't how he wanted to die. And yet, the ground was getting closer, faster, wind roaring in his ears along with his rapid heartbeat, whispers of unknown people haunting his mind as the rocks got closer-_

 

"Trevor!"

Trevor gave a slight gasp as he sat up, breathing a little heavier than he first thought and sweating more than he'd like to, especially in such a cold room. He gulped, his mocha eyes darting around the classroom as he tried to gain a clear understanding of where he was again. From the looks of the teacher, the classroom, the chalk writing on the board... Third period. Language Arts. Or, at least he thinks it is. He can't remember. It then sinks in that everyone in the class is looking at him, some with concerned looks, others simply curious ad it all just makes his fists tighten up tighter than they already are. He feels a hatefully shout crawling up his throat but it's interrupted by the teacher.

"Trevor, what have I told you about sleeping in class? It's the seventh week, boy, the seventh!" She says. Mrs... Mrs. Lane. Or was it Mrs. Cane? Fuck he could barely think clearly enough to remember her name. Luckily, like always, his tongue had bullets loaded to the brim with smart remarks at all times.

"Thanks for your concern, ma'am." He says, trying to look as nonchalant as he can while he wipes the sweat off his forehead with a shaky hand. Some of the other classmates lost interest and went back to their notebooks, a few of them shaking their heads as the thought of another argument between the teacher and the already well-known trouble maker. The bad thing was that Trevor didn't even hate her. She was generally a nice person to everyone in the class except Trevor. Ever since the second week of school when he answered one of her questions with an admittedly rude yet clever remark, she's treated him like a common delinquent. But, ah, could he really deny that she was right?

"If you think I'm going to pity you because of your nightmare, then forget it. I don't care what you were dreaming about, Mr. Philips, I care that you were not paying attention to me. "

"You're coming off a little narcissistic there, Mrs. Cane."

" It's Mrs. Jane, Trevor." She remarked, her gray, frizzy hair drooping over her shoulder as she leaned forward in her desk, a menacing glare etched in her eyes behind her ridiculously huge glasses.

"My apologies, Mrs. Jane, your name is so cliche and terrible that I must have confused it with about eighty other words in the dictionary."

"Out."

Trevor huffed a laugh, standing up and heading for the door, grabbing nothing as he didn't have any belongings to take with him. He couldn't afford a backpack, let alone lunch. Just the thought of lunch made his stomach growl painfully. How long had it been since he last ate? Four days? Somewhere around there. As the door to the classroom shut, he slid down a nearby wall, sitting as he placed a hand on his neck to feel his still rapid pulse. What the fuck was that nightmare? He'd never experience anything like that. Had he any nightmares before? Of course. Just... He'd never actually been afraid of a nightmare and he'd certainly never had a nightmare like that. Most of his nightmares were about monsters, hearing loud noises, revisiting old memories... Y'know, normal kid nightmares. And no matter how many times he listened to that voice over and over again, he couldn't place a name on it's owner. It was like... A voice that wasn't even a voice, if that made any sense. The fact that it didn't was what made him all the more irritated.

Subconsciously, he reached into his pocket to pull out his pocket knife (A CRKT, to be more specific), his thumb making quick work of flicking the blade out, the lights above glimmering off the well taken care of weapon. Looking down at it, he dragged his thumb lightly against the sharpness of the knife, carefully touching the serrated bottom half of the black blade. He got this from, if you can believe, a homeless guy. How did they always manage to get their gross hands on beautiful weapons like this? It made Trevor wonder how they even stayed alive half the time, considering all the young male did was walk up silently and snag the knife, that wasn't even close to hidden, before taking off, it's previous owner doing nothing but snoring away.

God fucking dammit, he shouldn't be thinking about hobo's right now. He needs to focus on the dream. That dream was certainly an oddity. That dream that a horror movie producer would shit out into a toilet bowl. A dream that fortune tellers would warn him about or something. Would he dare call it a premonition? No. He didn't believe in things like that. In fact, he didn't really believe in anything. Things happened and that's that. Things will happen and when they do, oh well. Wasn't that a belief too? Goddammit, he wasn't getting anywhere with this. Sheathing the blade and putting it back into his pocket, he decided sitting here was not nearly as fun as he first thought it would be. Maybe he'd go see what trouble he could cause before the bell rang.

Standing, he huffed before suddenly taking a second, shaky breath, the world suddenly moving very slowly. His knees shook as he swayed, finding it suddenly hard to hear anything. The world was silent. A sudden darkness slowly crept into the sides of his vision and he cussed.

 ** _Fuck, no, not now... Can't fucking.. pass out...don't pass out, don't pass out!_**   He pleaded with himself, a hand bracing his frail figure against the wall as he collected himself. God, the world felt like it was spinning and it was awful. His empty gut churned, threatening to release nothing but stomach acid but, luckily, he kept it down. The darkness crept a bit further and he resorted to deep inhales, feeling like he wasn't even breathing at all, his chest tight and his knees threatening to give way underneath him. He couldn't go down right here. His teacher was sure to check on him soon and if she found him lying unconscious on the floor, she'd freak out. Oh, shed freak out. she'd scream, call and ambulance and he'd have a bill that he would never be able to pay. Ryan was already on his ass about using money and he really didn't want to hear him bitching about cash other than the idea of almost losing his little brother. It took a few minutes of breathing heavily and shaking away drowsiness before he felt ok again, resting against the wall as a sudden exhaustion waved over him. This had been happening ever since school started. Like he said, Ryan was bitching about there not being enough money in the house. So, he stopped buying Trevor food, telling him that he'd have to get his own. That itself was a challenge. What he usually got anymore was what fit in his pocket from a convenience store or a super market. Fuck if he'd expect the school to do anything about it. They resorted to the excuse that everyone either paid for their lunch or they brought their own and that free food was not an option. Sure, he'd be able to sneak fruits such as apples or bananas from the vegetable bar ( Why fruit was in a vegetable bar was something that made Trevor borderline OCD) but even he knew that a few fruits every other day or so was not nearly the amount of nutrients his body needed. But there was nothing he could do about it. He'd thought about getting a job again but after his explosion at his last one, he was sure no one in their right mind would hire him again, which only made things more difficult.

The damn annoying bell droned loudly in his ears, signaling lunchtime and as the kids poured out of their classrooms, he hoped he didn't look like a dying cancer patient as he made his way out into the foyer. Once he was there, he took his usual seat at the side of the main building. He went here because no one dared to come here. something about a kid jumping off the room and him landing over here was what kept them away. Trevor thought it was nothing but a stupid rumor but it gave solitude that he severely enjoyed. Lost in his thoughts, he allowed himself to drink in what horrible student body this piece of shit school had. Everyone was in their respective groups. The Emos, the Nerds, the Preppies, the Bitches, the Jocks. One of them fuckin' jocks was staring right at him.

He could tell this one apart fro the others instantly. Besides the fact that he was never truly engaged in any conversation the football players were having, not laughing like donkeys or throwing cat-calls at girls, looking well out of place for a Quarterback, Trevor could always tell him apart from the others. Green hair, dark, slicked back hair, short and too fucking angry for his own good. But aside from the natural glare this Jock, this famous Michael Townley gave him, he offered instead a look of sympathy and worry. His face didn't show it but his eyes were like a movie, portraying his current emotions like a silent movie, minus the subtitles. This guy really had something about him and it was really irritating the delinquent. The fact that this guy was smashing down his walls of integrity with just his eyes and shoving sympathy down his throat, the fact that this guy could see right through Trevor ad see his weakness... It was really fucking annoying. Trevor glared at Michael, biting his lip before looking away. A simple 'Go fuck yourself' for the jock. He knew it didn't do anything. He could still feel his eyes on him, staring, judging him as if they'd been buddies for years, as if he fucking knew him. What a piece of shit.

He suddenly felt himself pulled out of his mind as he heard footsteps get very close to him. Looking up, he noticed the stupid fucking Jock, that same look of sympathy slapped on his stupidly handsome face. Wait, what?

"Hey. You don't look to good." Michael offered, his feet fidgeting a bit. Seemed he had a problem sitting still or something.

"What the fuck do you care?" Trevor asked, glaring up at him from his sitting position. What a fucking dick.

"Hey, now, no need to get hostile. Look," He said, sitting down in front of the younger male. Instinctively, Trevor tensed, gritting his teeth. He hayed people getting so close to him. "I wanted to apologize. For the time when we met. That wasn't exactly a good time."

Was this guy really apologizing for Trevor almost kicking his ass? Not to be boastful or anything."I can imagine. Being one of the most popular people in school must be such an exhausting thing." He remarked, a hiss in his voice that made Michael's face harden.

"Aside from being the most hated asshole that's stuck between pissing off teachers and beating up nerds?"

"Fuck you."

"Don't feel like it." Now that made Trevor smile. Anyone who could think of witty comebacks as quickly as he himself could was generally ok in his book. Honestly, by now, he was liable to knock this asshole on his ass for being so damn snarky. "So. Indulge me. Why are you sitting here with me instead of riding your fellow colleagues onto the field?" Trevor inquired, feeling himself relax against the wall of the building, eyes glued onto Michael as he observed every part of him. The way his eyes moved every now and then, the way his eyebrows twitched or raised. God, what the fuck was wrong with him?

"Like I said, you don't look too good. I noticed last week that you never eat here and you're a bit on the skinny side. You look ready to pas out, like, every day." _**Fuck you. Fuck you for noticing things.**_

"Anyways, I... I felt really bad. so, here." Michael said, stretching out a hand and offering a nicely wrapped sandwich. Just the sight of food made Trevor's stomach growl loudly and he was pretty certain that Michael heard it, as the Jock smiled softly in amusement. Trevor felt his neck heat up with embarrassment, his eyes glancing away as he hesitated. Why was he hesitating? He'd normally just take it and tell the jock to fuck off. Maybe he was still off from last period. that dream was still looming in the back of his mind.

"C'mon. It's just PB and J. My mom made it." He offered again with a smile that made Trevor gulp, his throat suddenly dry. Almost shyly, he reached and took the offered food, setting it in his lap as he told himself not to eat it just yet, regardless of how hard it was. He didn't want to appear to be like a desperate fucking beggar and inhale it, even though that was what he basically was at this point.

"...Thanks..."

"Hey, no problem. I'll get my mom to make to of 'em tomorrow, ok?"

"You really don't need to, Jockstrap."

"Well, too bad." Fucking Jesus, who was this kid? Fucking leader of the food drive? Fucking-- That didn't even make sense to himself! " Wanna hang out later?"

Wait, what?

"Huh?"

"I said, 'Do you wanna hang out later?'"

"Uhh... I barely know you, dude."

"All the more reason to hang out. Y'know, get to know you."

"Why? What even the fuck are you right now?"

"I think you're interesting. What's keeping you from hanging out anyways? What is Trevor Philips doing that's preventing him from having beers with a classmate?" Fuck, he had him there. Trevor didn't do things. He went home and he slept or wandered around town like always. But getting to know a Jock? God, today was eventful.

"Alright, Jockstrap, I'll 'hang out' with your cologne drenched ass later."

"Hey, I smell good. So," He stood, stretching a bit. "I'll wait for you after school. We'll figure out what to do from there. That simple enough?"

"Sorry, I wasn't listening." He earned himself a kick to the foot, a grin instantly striking his face even though his brain was screaming 'bad idea.' There were red flags all over the place but, goddammit, anything free was... Well, it was free. Michael gave nothing more than a nod, turning and walking back to his table of glaring wildebeests. Trevor offered the pack of idiots a wave before unwrapping the sandwich and taking a bite. Man, today was fucking awkward. Nightmares, near black-outs, Jockstraps and--

Holy fucking God, Michael's mom could make sandwiches.

__________________________________________________

"Alright, class. Don't forget that your assignment. questions 2-25 on page 243, it is that simple! Jessie, that means you. Tony, lets try to remember today's lesson and Trevor, yes you, don't ignore me. Get your homework done." Said Mr. Diffuse loudly, the rather young instructor pointing at the well know 'bad boy' with eyes that tried to be as assertive as possible. Trevor simply huffed a laugh loudly. Yea fucking right, sure, he'd get his homework done. Like he always did.

 _"I'll wait for you after school."_  

God, what a fucking day. He couldn't wait for it to be over and, honestly, he wouldn't have actually waited outside of the main doors for the football player if he didn't feel the need to cause a ruckus in town.

 _"We'll figure out what to do from there."_ Trevor had quite a few ideas of what the two could do from there. One of them included getting very, very drunk. He hadn't had a decent drink in so long, he'd almost forgotten the taste of alcohol and how it burns on the way down his throat. All he had to do what to figure out how to get the precious liquid. He was only a year shy of eighteen and that frustrated him immensely. Maybe Michael was old enough? Speaking of the Jockstrap, he had half a mind to mug that mother fucker, to tear him apart for seeing Trevor in such a weakened state earlier that day. Fucking asshole probably thought he was the hero of the day by giving an outcast a sandwich. Well, he was fucking wrong. That asshole always seemed to be in his head. He was always daydreaming or over exaggerating sentences as if he was in a permanent monologue. it was like he was cut straight from a movie and slapped into a shitty high school that he had no place in. Attitudes and mannerisms like that were the reason Trevor was considered 'dangerous' by other teenagers who actually had a decent idea of what the fuck they were talking about.

"Need something, Mr. Philips?" A familiar and uncomfortably smooth voice said, causing Trevor to whip his head in the direction it originated from. Principal Winters. Fucking brilliant.

"No, there isn't. Would you kindly fuck off back into your own pit of despair?" Trevor said, giving his best glare that he could muster. His chest felt tight again, similar to how it felt right after his nightmare today...

"That's not a very nice thing to say."

"I ain't a nice person." The principal carried his gaze towards the sky, a sudden ( and rather creepy ) smile gracing his lips. "Ah. The ones with spirit are always my favorite." Uh, ok, weird.

"You know, Trevor," He continued, gaze still upward towards the cloudy sky. It looked like it was going to snow again, as if it wasn't cold enough. "You should be careful. Like a cloud, a human being can be graceful and mysterious. However... When it gathers enough of itself, it can wipe out everything in it's path. You should never walk in the path of a storm." Philosophical and creepy. Man, Trevor hit the jackpot with this.

"I embrace storms, Winters. They don't scare me." He said with roughness grating his voice. He was ready to say more when Winters gripped his chin, looking right into his eyes. It was like he was infiltrating his mind, reading every secret and emotion that Trevor carried within his head. It wasn't comfortable in the slightest. He wanted to rip that fucking beard off this assholes face and shove it in his mouth. But, dammit, he was frozen again.

"Watch. Your. Step."

That was all Winters said before releasing the smaller male, patting his cheek rather roughly, enough to even sting a bit, and turning to go back inside, the doors opening and shutting behind him as if by verbal command. What the fuck was all that? Every single moment Trevor was even in the direct area of this guy, he simply didn't know what to do. He had no idea as to what he was even feeling or why he was feeling. It was like this guy knew exactly what nerves to hit to make him feel angrier than ever before but immobilize him. Just the very thought of it made his face heat up with pure anger, a hand reaching up to rub his slightly stinging cheek as he glared at the doors his principal went through, as if he could melt them with sheer will power.

"Hey, you ok?" Trevor turned his head in a fashion similar to that of a meerkat, concerned and eager to know exactly what was going on at all times. Michael. Of course.

"Yea, why wouldn't I be?" Michael seemed to fidget uncomfortable, eyes lit with concern that Trevor didn't really much care for.

"I thought that Winters was gonna keg you in the head or something. I dunno about you, but that guy gives me the creeps."

"You should not fear what will die of a heart attack from climbing the stairs." Just like that, the fear and uncomfortable aura in the air was gone, the two males smiling at each other before turning to walk down the stairs and onto the foyer, crossing the snow covered ground with steps that seemed in time. From there on, there was silence as the two walked down the sidewalk towards town which was barely a mile away from their shit school. Trevor took the time of silence to think about things, think about this strange day. His mind kept going back to that nightmare as he couldn't get it out of his head no matter how hard he tried. Dreams, even nightmares, were always forgotten within a ten minute period but this gem of a dream just kept replaying inside his eyelids over and over. And every time he tried to debunk it, the images seemed to just get fuzzy and incomprehensible. Honestly, he blamed it on hunger. Like he'd mentioned before, food was not a thing that he came across often. Nearly blacking out in the middle of a hallway was evidence of that. At least he got something in his stomach today, thanks to that Jock.

That Jock...

This guy was a total mystery wrapped in a cheap Letterman and hair gel. When they first met, it was two spitting vipers just eager to eat each other within a certain time limit. Now, it was like a guy rescuing an injured dove and taking care of it. Well, unfortunately, his dove really had a fascination for pecking out eyes. Even so, he was still so curious.

"So. Michael. What causes a Jock to talk to and even hang out with a guy like me?" Trevor asked, arms crossing behind his head as they walked. For a time, he was greeted with silence, the Jock looking in another direction almost blankly as if he didn't hear the juvenile at all. Trevor was about to ask him if he was deaf, but he was then answered.

"Honestly, I didn't really want to. But today hasn't been my best. Me and my girlfriend got into a fight. She pointed out a lot of my flaws and stuff and it made me feel... I dunno, weak. Like I'd lost all the support and strength in me. And when I saw you today, looking tired and broken like I did, well... I wondered if you related to me." He shook his head, shrugging. "I know it doesn't make sense, I... I guess I was just desperate to talk to someone that wasn't a teammate." Silence reclaimed itself again. Trevor really didn't know what to say, he wasn't exactly a love expert.

"Girlfriend, eh? What is she?"

"Captain of the cheer-leading squad."

"My fucking God. " The delinquent said with a laugh, glancing at Michael who really wasn't sharing his amusement for the situation. Clearing his throat, Trevor shifted his gaze forward again. "Well, I can't really relate to you there, Mike. I haven't really ever been in a relationship. I think they're time consuming and worthless. I mean, yea, you get a good fuck every now and then, but, you can never tell if they'll stay faithful or be total lying bitches." Trevor looked at Michael, the slightly smaller male's gaze having shifted to the ground as he seemed to sink into himself. Weakness...

"You think she's cheating on me...?"

"Wouldn't doubt it. Nothing to get sad over." Trevor shrugged.

"Fuck... It's different for me. She was my first kiss, my first lay, my first love--"

"Can you get anymore cliche? Jesus Christ, I thought you were the almighty Michael Townley, not some drenched sponge shedding tears over a whore who will most likely be a stripper in the future." He snapped. He hated seeing people so worked up over nothing. Especially a bulky bull like Michael. Trevor would admit that Michael was most likely as tough as he looked but now he wasn't really sure. And Michael knew it.

As the two entered town, they stopped talking again. Trevor more or less wanted to let the smaller male soak in what needed to be said. Honesty was an amazing policy and it could sometimes bring people out of the dumps. However, sometimes it wasn't exactly needed. Like how Trevor lied about not stealing a pack of cigarettes from a local convenience store. Needless to say, he's not aloud in there anymore, but, those cigarettes were worth it.This town was a piece of shit regardless of how good their cigarettes were, though. It looked as bad as the school he was stuck in. Maybe even worse. Several shops had busted windows from either robbery, the bikers being assholes or the weather. Those were the only reason anything happened in this town anymore. On a rare day, there might actually be a murder. For example, last year.

Sweet girl, Amber Tay. Or, at least that's what Trevor could tell from the few times he'd seen her when he'd actualy go to school. She had auburn hair and a nice smile. Her eyes were bright blue and she was absolutely adored by everyone she knew. She didn't have any enemies as far as anyone was concerned. How she ended up literally gutted on the side of the road was a total mystery. A lot of people thought it was the current principal, Principal Burns. He'd always been a hostile man but he was a bit too chubby and too much of a scaredy-cat to commit murder. Then again, Trevor never really saw him anyways. The accusations caused him to move. Where, no one knew.

But now Winters was in charge and Trevor couldn't tell if it was any better.

Soon, Amber was completely forgotten. No one brought her up. The police cut her case cold and when her memorial candles and posters and such were blown away during a blizzard, she was completely erased from the town. Trevor only remembered because she was found fairly close to his home. He stayed up all night watching the blue and red lights flash, not really daring to go have a peek. He was suffering from contact high from his brother at the time, but that was the only reason.

Amber Tay was gone. That's all he understood that year. It wasn't even like he cared much or anything. It's just... Unsettling to know that there was a dead girl from school near your house.

By now, Michael and Trevor were sitting side by side at a dead fountain, exchanging a few conversations here and there to, as Michael insisted, get to know each other. Trevor shared his stories of his abusive father, how he committed suicide and how his beloved mother took the blame. How Ryan wasn't nearly better than his fuck face of a father and how he desperately wanted to leave that stupid trailer park. He explained how he despised the snow but he actually had a fondness for the idea of snow sharks, which earned and entertain laugh from the Quarterback. He kicked him, of course, but they went back to chatting soon after. Trevor explained how he wasn't good at making friends and was even worse relationship wise. Trust issues, he said. The whole father thing really ruined how he looked at people anymore. He admitted he still didn't really trust Michael himself, and Michael understood.

As for Michael, well... He actually wasn't much different.

Michael had been playing football since the age of eight. He wasn't even a fan of football. In fact, he hated it. But, he only played because his father was six foot three inches of nothing but muscle. He'd knocked the Jock out quit a few times and even sent him to the hospital once after a scuffle of theirs. But, Michael denied anything about child abuse because, for some reason, his poor mother adored his father. Pleading child abuse would mean his dad would go to jail and his mother would be much more depressed than she already was. And, god, he loved his mother He just wished she wasn't so blind...

Other than that, Michael was kind of a social butterfly. He usually made friends with a lot of people by accident, but admitted most of them avoided him once they learned that, like his father, he had dreadful anger issues and he would put anyone in the ground. he's had a few girlfriends here and there but, fuck, Amanda was incredible. She was nice, she had a nice figure, she did well in bed-- Trevor shut out that part.

And finally, Michael was always a bit depressed. He hated people getting hurt, especially those close to him (Ironic), and he had always dreamed of doing something other than football. Something big and drastic. But, for now, he'd just have to wait until he could finally leave his fucking house and start his own life. He admitted, he thought he and Amanda would grow old together with kids and a dog but now, with how she was acting lately and how he didn't feel that spark anymore, that might not happen. Honestly... This guy was ok. He was honest and he really wasn't afraid to speak his mind. He had a special talent in sarcasm and being a dick and, honestly, Trevor liked that. _A lot._ And when Michael decides it's time to go home and he suggests that they get together again soon, Trevor is fairly confident he's found a friend. A mismatched friendship, yes, but a friendship. With someone who understood him. The idea of someone finally knowing how he felt and being able to relate to him made his gut all warm. Maybe it was the intoxication of happiness he hadn't felt in a while. To say the least, Trevor spends the night staring at his roof, smirking. Whatever was making him feel this way was very weird and Trevor hated it. However, he didn't want it to end.

 

This school year was definitely something. And it's only the seventh week.


	4. It's Getting Weirder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter is probably going to be the worst one for this fic. I rushed it so It could upload before Halloween and I apologize. It's too quickly paced, it's not descriptive enough and it's far too short. But if I don't post this now, I probably will abandon this fic overtime because of this stupid chapter, as I've got another fanfic I'm working on as well. I'm enjoying this fic too much to let it sit here alone. 
> 
> SIDENOTE: Thank you for all your support and praise for this fanfiction! It means a lot that people actually /Like/ my stuff. Really, it does. Love you guys.

Did you know that if an apple falls from a tree and hits a guy on the head, he can discover something about the world around him? So why, pray tell, was it suddenly bad to chuck an apple at an unsuspecting victim and knock him square on his ass? Granted, it wasn't exactly part of Trevor's plan that the kid hit his head on the desk and spent the rest of the day in the nurses office... But, Jesus, He was just trying to spread some _Knowledge!_

"If that Newton guy can take an apple to the head and discover gravity, surely you can think of something cool, too!"

Ok, maybe that wasn't a good thing to say either. But the least the kid could do was say 'Don't call me Surely' or something funny like that. No, all he did was bitch and moan about how his head hurt. It was just a little blood! Nothing to be concerned about! What a fucking pussy. Either way, he was sitting in the principals office, waiting to be scolded by the old asshole himself. From where Trevor sat, which was a in an old chair by an old wall that faced the door to the principals office. To his right were filing cabinets that had about a million cubby things and they were a trillion feet tall, packed with information that apparently needed to be kept secret, evidence of the locks all over the place. To his left was a desk where the Vice Principal would sit if there even was a Vice Principal. The desk was nothing but a dusty piece of furniture. There wasn't even anything decorating it. On the wall, however, were several dusty picture frames, all holding the images of previous Principals and the school in it's better days, students actually smiling, buildings not totally falling apart at the whim of the weather. It kinda made Trevor jealous, that they had a decent school and they had... Well, they had shit. At the farthest end, Trevor could see his picture. The big wig of this fine establishment.

Fucking Mr. Winters with his stupid eyes that always made Trevor feel cold and with his droning voice that made Trevor suddenly shiver in fear. It wasn't necessarily that he was afraid of the principal. He just know who he was, how much power he had and how well he could manipulate a weakened mind. And that really pissed Trevor off. He hated anyone who could easily take advantage of his emotions should they actually show. Maybe he was afraid after all. Still not afraid of the man. Just the fact that he could rip those emotions right out of Trevor's chest and shove then down his throat and the fact that he simply could was what made Trevor sick. This guy had a clear ambition at all times. He always knew what to do, what to say and how to say it. He was well planned out. A bit too well planed out. It was like he wasn't even human. An alien in wolves clothing that's actually a sheep. A fucking lying sheep that needed to be sheered and gutted. And most certainly did Trevor want to sheer him, expose whatever manipulative bastard was under all that wool. Then he wanted to gut him. Alive.

The delinquent glanced up at the sound of a door creaking open, a new figure in the old room with him. Except it wasn't the principal. Not even close. Blue eyes caught his and they instantly lit on fire, the room seeming to heat up with anger as a familiar yet easily forgettable Jockie entered the room. From what he could remember, this was Brad Snider. Gave him trouble on the first day. This guy was nothing but muscle and his lack of brains made that obvious. In his hand, he had a pink slip. A detention form. This honestly wasn't surprising, as Brad has gotten into more fights than even Trevor has which, in the juvenile world, was like a dog pissing in another dogs food bowl. There were only so many Kibble n' Bits. But, to be honest, healthy competition might be just what Trevor needed to lift his spirits, as he was still a little bummed out for getting in trouble this morning.

"Whatcha got there, Goldie Locks?" Trevor asked with a sneer and venom lining his, a heavy glare cast on the taller male as he loomed closer, slowly. This guy moved like a shark, swimming about before attacking which to Trevor was extremely predictable.

"None of your fucking business, Philips."

"Awww, why you gotta be so rude~?" He said in a sing song voice, his smile almost impossibly getting larger.

"You better get rid of that fucking grin before I smack it off your poor ass face." Brad is being cocky. Like always. He was an idiot. Like always."Mmmm, man, you just enjoy hurting my little feelings." Trevor stands, meeting the taller male halfway with one big stride. He's ready and so is Brad. The other male knows it, too. God, wouldn't he love to knock those teeth right out of that bastards face. His fists clench so hard, his knuckles turn white against the force, brown, almost red eyes glimmering with a certain evil intent that visibly makes Brad cautious. At least he's clever enough to know a fair opponent when he see's one. Brad blinks, blue eyes glaring heavily down at Trevor. Trevor blinks back, waiting, biding his time before he can explode and, holy hell, he's close. The heat in his chest, the tensing in his muscles, the twitching in his right hand. He knows his own signs and if Brad won't start anything, he surely will. Another 'surely' joke, please. He thinks he said that out loud because Brad is staring at him like he's an alien now. Or that Trevor suddenly turned into a Lycan or a Hydra. Winters doesn't seem like he's going to be getting out of that room anytime soon. Honestly, he might not even be there. He has a chance.

Trevor must have blacked out for a moment because he's on the floor and Brad has him pinned. The bulky male gets one good hit in, a hit that makes Trevor smile because, damn, he can actually swing. Another hit. And then another. It hurts, it really does, but it's just triggering that feeling, that fire in the smaller males heart that has gotten him this far. Trevor's hands lunge for the Brad's neck, said male flinching away in an attempt to avoid the contact but he's caught none the less. Trevor has a good grip. Good enough to feel the struggling breaths against his thumbs and see the hatred and fear in those blue eyes. He uses this opportunity to flip the two, Trevor bringing his knee's up to smash into Brad's shoulders to ensure he wasn't going anywhere and it just causes the large male to deliciously squirm. Trevor's able to get about two hits in, a grin crawling onto his face as he chuckles but it's all he can do. He feels a hand grip his shoulder and pull him off Brad. He doesn't even have to look to know its that fucking principal. He's too angry to really look. It wasn't enough. His chest is still hot and his hand is still twitching. He's still hungry.

"Really, boys?! You're both in here for inflicting harm and the first thing you do is battle it out in my office?!?" Says Winters harshly. He's gripping Trevor's shoulder still and, to be honest, he's using more pressure than whats probably correct. Trevor can feel his nails digging into his skin and it makes him hiss a bit. He feels heat in his right cheek and he can tell instantly he's bruising up already as well as swelling. But Trevor doesn't care. He's looking at his work. Brad's got a busted lip that's staining his teeth. His nose is bleeding, too, but that's pretty much it. It's an accomplishment for how little time they had to sort out their issues. However, Trevor still had some opinions he needed to say.

"Snider, go to the nurse, now. When she's cleaned you up, you're to come back here. As for you," Winters gives Trevor a glare and he dares to glare back. "We're having a conversation this instant." He's still got that ferocity in his voice that Trevor congratulates him for. It kind of makes his stomach churn, too, but that might be lack of food again.

As soon as Brad is gone, Trevor finds himself sitting in a chair across from the principals desk in the dreary room that somehow seems much darker than the room he was previously in. There were books all other the place as well as posters for school events and maybe a calendar or two. What caught Trevor's eye was a clock in the corner that ticked with the beating of his heart, it seemed. Fast, enthralled and thirsting for more of the excitement that he could only graze his fingertips on. The clock was nothing but a fake crow perched atop a normal clock, the hands of the clock itself crows feet and the little red hand that followed his heart a thin feather. The sight of the clock reminded him of an old story that went along the lines of crows being able to bring souls back from the dead if they sought vengeance. Crows were usually a symbol of time or death in most scenarios and it kind of made Trevor feel a bit anxious. Death was something that he'd heard of, dreamed of it but he'd never encountered it. He didn't know. He'd welcome it, of course. but, then again, everyone had that irrational fear of death, he supposed. Winters took a seat in front of Trevor, eyes hard as he glared at his student, nails scraping against the wood of his desk as he subconsciously scratched at it.

"You think you're tough, wise guy? You think you can come into my school and do whatever you like? Back talk me? Assault students with fruit? Fight in my Office?!" He was silent for a moment, as if waiting for an answer. Trevor didn't really have one, a hand subconsciously rubbing against his sore cheek, he stared seemingly through Winters. His stomach wasn't really digesting being yelled at. He snapped back into reality as Winters slammed a hand roughly against the desk, teeth clenched so hard, they might break. Trevor feels it again, that chill in the air that freezes him and suddenly that fire that always carried him into battle was put out, instead replaced by that fucking blizzard he could only identify as fear.

"Answer me, Trevor Philips!" Winters roared, his voice echoing off of the walls that seemed to moan in terror. for a moment, Trevor didn't have an answer. When he did, he knew it was a mistake for saying it aloud.

"Yea, I do. I think I couldn't have beat that fucker Brad to Oblivion and then some. I think you stopped me because you don't want bloodstains on your 'perfect principal' award-"

The principal of the shitty high school has his jaw in a crushing grip, his sheer strength alone able to pull the teenager right out of his chair and mere inches away from himself. His eyes seemed to shine a bright red in the dim light that caught them and it sent chills down Trevor's spine. Winters was breathing heavily, his free hand formed in a fist that's ready to fly and Trevor instantly knew what he was feeling. The fact that a teacher was feeling it was rather unsettling. But, the principal sighs, swallowing harshly as he calmed himself down. His grip on Trevor's chin gets tighter and tighter as he gets threateningly closer.

"You will respect me, my school and your classmates. You will behave. You will do well in class and if you don't, so help me, you will have prayed you went to military school." Nearly tossing Trevor as he let go, he stood straight, clearing his his throat as he straightened his tie, gaze shifting to the dirty window. He can't even stand to look at Trevor anymore and the teenager knows it well. The throbbing in his chin is evidence enough of that. There's silence now. Trevor is left to fester in his extremely confusing and rather irritating emotions as Winters does nothing but stare. His posture has relaxed now. He's breathing evenly and his eyes have softened. How he could calm down so fast was a mystery, as it usually took a large amount of hitting a wall with his head before he could calm down. To Trevor, at least. How Winters did anything was a total mystery. He was like a rattlesnake before, rattle shaking about with ferocity but now... Now he was like a dog that was a few days away from death. Calm. Accepting. Silent. Strange.

"You're good at math, Mr. Philips. So, tell me," Winters suddenly said, turning back to Trevor as he sat on the desk beside him, stone cold eyes glued to the teenager again."Why is it that nothing multiplied by anything but itself equal three?" Really? Math, right now? Well, at least the answer was too fucking simple for Trevor to believe.

"Because three is a prime number. Why?"

"Why is it a prime number?" Really?

"Because nothing multiplied by itself equals three other than three and one by itself. What's with the algebra?" Winters simply shook his head, completely ignoring the last bit of Trevor's sentence.

"In an old book, one that I don't believe you've read, it was stated simply,'Nothing can amount to the primal number three, for it is the mark of the Devil, as is other primal numbers, contrary to numbers being as equal and perfect as our Holy God.'" Winters smiled at Trevor's expression. the expression of an absolutely confused person who believe that the asshole in front of him was being a fucking idiot.

"To put it simply, it means that any prime number is that of the Devil, for nothing can be equal to him, nothing can be as powerful, as unique and as primal as the Devil. No one but himself. 'Contrary to numbers being as equal and perfect as our Holy God' simply states that numbers that are easily multiplied to equal other numbers, composite numbers, are as easy to understand as the word of God. It is interesting that in this statement, it says that composite numbers are easy to understand. They are all over and there are more composite numbers than prime. But, with the primal numbers, they have no equal. They are unmatched. We can understand and become equal with the words and essence of God and yet we are unable to even conceive the idea of being equal to the Devil."

Getting off the table, he slowly started advancing towards Trevor, said teenager instantly tensing up. What the fuck did numbers have anything to do with God or Satan? Well, sure, there was the whole '666' shpeal, but '666' was also a composite number. He was ready to pitch that argument but he was ultimately stopped as Winters got even closer, making Trevor feel very claustrophobic and anxious.

"No one," Winters placed a hand on the backrest of Trevor's chair, smirking.

"Is equal," He leaned his face close to the teenagers more scared and confused face, said teenager scraping his feet against the wooden floor beneath him subconsciously as his hands gripped the arm rests. Why did he feel so hot all of a sudden? Oh yea, maybe because there was a creepy fucking teacher spilling nonsense about numbers suddenly about ten inches from his face. Nine. Eight... Seven, wait, holy shit, what? No. No. Stop.

" _To the devil._ " Winters whispered, his breath blowing all over the delinquents face, making Trevor's cheeks heat up nervously. Fuck, he couldn't deny a burning red blush, no matter how hard he tried. it wasn't exactly helpful that Winters breath reeked of alcohol and something else he couldn't identify. Winters was literally almost three inches from his face and it was making Trevor's heart pound out of fear. Or at least that's what he'd like to think. He wasn't turned on or anything like that. He just had several very confusing emotions writhing about in his belly and it was making him squirm uncomfortably. And the second he caught Winters eyes, he knew that the principal was reading every single one of Trevor's emotions as he watched the teenager writhe, cheeks red and all.

The sick part was that Trevor could tell he was fucking loving it.

"Understand who you're squaring up against before you fire your weapon, Mr. Philips." That's all he said, pulling away and letting his mentally (And honestly, probably sexually, too) confused victim instantly stand and head for the door. That's all Trevor really remembered. He thinks he'd blocked the rest out or he'd blacked out entirely because he found himself sitting by himself in his usual spot that he sat in at lunch. It wasn't even lunch, it was only the end of fifth period by now. He doesn't move from there when the next eight million bells rings. He's motionless when the janitor asks if he's ok. He does nothing at the end of the day but watch Michael closely as he and Amanda do their daily routine of making out rather violently at the snow shark statue before walking off campus. Michael is probably going to get laid tonight. Hes probably going to feel so fucking good, so perfect as he's fucking his girl. And Trevor's left here to rot in this gross feeling of being emotionally defiled. He's not attracted to Winters. Not in the slightest. Sure, the guy looked really well for his age, but that's not the fucking point and Trevor understands that now. He was embarrassed. So embarrassed, he fucking blushed like a little girl. All because, like Trevor said before, Winters was good at manipulation of the mind. An he just played Trevor like a fucking fiddle as he basically read his every thought, emotion and memory. No one knew Trevor. Not even Ryan. When he wanted people to know him, he let them know gradually over time. He knew other people, however. Like, for example, he knew Michael so well, he could write a book about him. He was so cliche, so predictable. But Trevor couldn't be that open. He'd certainly never wanted his mind split open like and egg for some fucking principal.

No. One. Knew. Trevor. Philips. And as he's walking home, as he's laying in bed and even as he's dreaming, he's left with a reminder that some old asshole suddenly did know him. Granted, it was a tiny bit. Didn't even register on a typical graph but just that little percent made him feel violated all the same.

_____________________________________________

It takes Trevor a few days before he can talk to Michael again. He just felt so emotionally abused and weak. And, as he's said a billion times before, he hated people seeing him so weak. Though, it would have helped to talk about it, he kept it in like always. And although he'd agree it wasn't healthy, he'd also say that you should mind your own fucking business and stop being a nosy prick.

Trevor would like to ignore everything like he's used to doing. Growling at people, glaring at Jockies, threatening nerds and whistling at girls. Except, he can't. There's a different atmosphere in the air, something foreboding and yet, no one really portrayed the concern in the air. What was different really shouldn't have bothered him, in fact, he felt the need that he should be happy that these circumstances were so. He should have been drinking his mind dull, celebrating by lighting fireworks before shoving them into the Jocks locker room. But he didn't. He wasn't happy and he certainly didn't want to celebrate.

Brad was missing.

He had been missing ever since Trevor last saw him, being dismissed and sent to the nurses office. No one had seen the blond football player since. It's a little startling and the knowledge that one of their pack mates was gone was making the football team very tense and irritated with concern.No one knew where Brad was, no one saw him leave the school, no one saw him enter school. He was completely gone. Like he said, Trevor should feel good, but he didn't. Maybe it was because Michael was so upset about it.

Speak of the devil.

When Michael see's Trevor has returned to his normal spot beside the main building during lunch, he manages to slip away, jogging over to the male he'd like to consider a friend. He couldn't help but give a smile that portrayed happiness for seeing his friend yet worry for his condition and a deeply buried sadness for the lack of a certain dickbag. Honestly, Trevor couldn't blame him. He looked like shit, most likely. Blood shot eyes, pale, shivering from a light breeze. Fuck, he even felt like a newborn giraffe. Except, he isn't getting up on his long ass limbs, ready to explore the new world. He's ready to die in his fucking blood spill. He passed out again this morning. Luckily, he wasn't out for long. Maybe only ten minutes and fortunately, Ms. Jane was too busy grading homework to notice him. It usually doesn't bother him but that's the second time in a week. This whole 'not eating' thing is really taking a toll on his body and, from the concerned expression that lights up in Michael's eyes, the Jock notices it very easily. Trevor isn't tense when he's sitting down. He's pulled his shirt over his knee's which were pressed against his chest, a small oven-like heat inside his clothing that makes him relax in a fairly quick manner. He's cold and it's actually a sunny day. There's barely even a breeze.

"T, man, are you alright...? You look fucking minutes from killing over." The Jock states, stretching out an arm to rest the back of his hand against the younger males forehead. it's not there for long because Trevor flinches away, but he doesn't need it to be there for long to tell that the Canadian is a little warm. It wasn't a fever but it was pretty damn close.

"I'm not that lucky, Jockstrap. I'm just... I'm tired is all."

"Trevor, I've seen you when you're tired. You don't look tired, you look sick. Are you not eating again?" Geez, it's like he fucking shouted it because some of the Jocks at the far end of the foyer glance over to see where their captain has gone. They investigate like a band of lions before huffing, seemingly in unison, turning around and returning to their conversations. It's been going on like this for two weeks. Trevor and Michael have been hanging out regularly, usually as an escape for Michael to get away from football. They'd usually get drunk in town if they managed to get beer a the time or they'd sit at the dead fountain and chat, which usually ended with Michael talking for countless minutes and Trevor watching him, watching how his mouth moved and how his expression changed with every new subject. To Trevor, it was like watching a movie. Probably because Michael seemed to be cut right out of one. Trevor on the other hand was having it worse than that ginger shit Annie could ever dream. Yes, it often came up in conversation about Trevor's eating habits, how Michael said he should eat and how Trevor said he should fuck off. It usually ended with Michael saying that he was worried about the delinquent and Trevor never had any response. Why would Michael care? Nobody cared about Trevor. Or... Did he? Did Michael care? Maybe it was why Trevor felt so sheepish when Michael said anything related to it, why he felt himself blush and he had to hid it by looking away and muttering something homicidal.

Trevor couldn't answer Michael's question. The worry in the bulkier males face made his heart feel strange already. He didn't want it to get worse with Michael vomiting worried sentences all over the place while chastising him about not eating. But by the look in Michael's face, he can tell it's a little too late for that. "T, I told you. If you're hungry, tell me and I'll buy you something."

"I don't want your help."

"Why do you have to be so difficult? I'm just trying to look after you." Michael raises his voice a bit and it triggers a weakened anger in the even weaker male.

"You're not my parent, M. I don't need you babying me and I never will. So just fuck off back to your pack of hyena's, eh?" He can see the anger flare in Michael. He can also see him struggling to choke it down. Fuck him. Let him strangle on his stupid emotions.

"Whatever." Thats all Michael says as he stands, offering a glare before turning back to his group and approaching them. A few of those dick bags give Trevor a glare, noticing their precious leaders obvious irritation. Trevor offers them a sneer, his eyes not exactly carrying as much hatred as he'd like them to. As the schools for the forty thousandth time today, he stands, giving a huff as he headed to his next class, his anger seeming to heat the air around him because he's not cold anymore. But if Michael kept poking and prodding like a jackass, he'd be colder that the snow that threatened to fall from the skies above. He didn't even register the strange adult that wandered through clouds of teenagers as he made his way to the principals office.

_______________________________________

"Enter."

The door shuts with a weary groan that echoes around the dark principals office. Winters is sitting at his desk, glancing over paperwork. He hesitates for a moment, his eyes glancing upward towards the new figure in the room, a soft smile gracing his lips. And old friend was always a good thing to see, and yet Winters didn't have to be a fortune-teller to tell that this man was not here on a good note. It made his heart grow a little heavy.

"Jacob Finley. It's good to see you, my old friend. what brings you to the drowning-in-debt-but-too-damn-cocky-to-shut-down glory that is Ludendorff High?" Winters tried, forcing a grin as the much older man gave him a rather dark look, wrinkled lips looking no where close to smiling.

"Eric, It's another one." 'Jacob' says softly, his hands clasping together slowly and quietly as if to mourn. The movement makes Winter stiffen, yet he tries not to let it show too much.

"Another one what, Jacob? Lawsuit?"

"No, Eric. Not a lawsuit."

"Is is something about money concerns? Jacob, I'm trying. A principal can only make so mu-"

"One of your students was found dead, Eric. this has nothing to do with money issues. " Winters expression instantly goes somber, his chest seemingly held in place by the breath hes holding, refusing to let it go. Another one? No... He thought this would all be cleaned up. He thought it was better now. He thought he could finally clean this schools slate.

"... Do you know who it was...?" he asks, but he feels like he doesn't even need to. "His ID read 'Brad Snider', Eric. From the looks of it, he was, uhm... assaulted with something blunt. Severe trauma to the head suggests it, yet cause of death is still unknown. His jersey was completely torn apart, and yet not a single evidence of who could have done it."

Winters feels his body shake as if the room got colder. He stands, walking over to the window to gaze out onto the school, his school. Brad's parents called two days ago, saying he never came home. Winters didn't think much of it. Jocks always slipped away from home to run off with girls or to cause trouble in various places as well as doing various things, most of them being illegal. Ending up killed was not one of them.

"... I trust you've contacted the family?"

"It has already been done. I left them to grieve."

"What do I tell them?"

"The football team?"

"No, not just them, the whole school in general. I can't keep losing students, Jacob, I will  **not** let another student get harmed.This is my school now and I promised myself that it would get better." Winters remarks harshly, his knuckles turning white as he clenches his fists, gritting his teeth.

"I suggest you stop beating around the bush when addressing matters like this, Eric. The children need to know. They are all in great danger, especially those who have to  **walk** to school." Jacob said as he walked over to his old companion, placing a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to calm him down or to console him. Either would be fine.

"What should I do, old friend? I fear telling them the wrong things."   
  
"I suggest as much protection as possible. A student will be accompanied by another when they are near school grounds. It's obvious that the sick bastard picks them off from here. We should also send forms to adults to inform them of danger and... I would advise that a self-defense class of some sort to be set up." That part seemed simple enough. He'd have a conversation with the coach about that. Giving a sigh, Winters hung his head, biting his tongue as he prepared to schedule an assembly for tomorrow, hands still a bit shaky from the left over shock as he pressed the button for the intercom that spanned across all of school, his voice hesitating for an unusual amount of time before he spoke.

  
"Teachers, students, please excuse my interruption. I understand this is very short notice, but tomorrow morning, after first hour has begun, I would like all students to go to the gym for an assembly that discusses very serious news. I advise that  **every single student** be there. There should be absolutely no excuse as to why students do not show up tomorrow morning. One again, assembly after attendance is taken in first hour, all students and faculty members will be there. Thank you."

 

 

As the intercom shuts off, there's a loud groan that basically comes out in unison from every student in the classroom. Even Trevor rolls his eyes at the news, his nails digging into his desk. Just is voice made him irritated now. As he glanced over to the window next to him, he can't help but think about what the assembly will be about. He bets Michael is probably hopeful it's about football. Or that he's irritated it's about football. Trevor can't decide. His mind has been on the jock ever since their spat at lunch earlier. Trevor feels a bit... empty. He feels and overwhelming sense of guilt for no reason and it's seriously annoying. Maybe he'd talk to Michael tomorrow after the assembly, try to clear things up... Bah, he sounded so stupid to himself. Even so, he'd still try. This school year was proving to be a bit lonely and after countless minutes of drawing random things in his notebook, Trevor concludes that he misses Michael. All the time. Especially when the jock is downing his girlfriend with his spit. It's strange, yet the feeling is welcome and somewhat nice. Michael has been the only one to care enough to ask if he was _eating_ , after all. It might have taken him a week or two, but Trevor knew now, especially when Michael catches his eye in sixth hour, offering an unsure smile that says 'I'm sorry, you know'. Michael cared. Really, genuinely cared.

And Trevor thinks he cares, too.


	5. Plot Conveniences are Convenient To The Plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trashtrashtrashtrashtrashtrashtrashtrashtrashtrashtrashtrashtrashtrashtrashtrashtrashtrashtrashtrashtrashtrashtrashtrashtrash.  
> I don't even care about this chapter, I'm so mad at it.   
> I'm not going to be talking to this chapter for a long time. This chapter and I need time apart.

_It's cold again, yet wet. Almost his entire body is damp with sweat and, God, his head really fucking hurts. His chest is heaving as hot breaths work their way in a our of his nose. It takes him a moment before he can finally find the strength to move... And he can't. He feels something tight around his wrists and his legs and seemingly taped to what appears to be chair legs. He's bound. Tied up. Caught. A sudden prickle of that fucking foreign feeling, that feeling of fear as curls down his spine and back up again, seeming to seep through muscle to get at his heart and zap it. He's awake now._

_Trevor gives a sudden yelp, shuddering at the sound of his own voice being muffled against fabric. His eyes snap open, and yet he cannot see. It's a dark red in front of him, so dark it's a wonder he can see color at all. A blindfold. Brilliant. He spends his precious time wiggling, giving noises of displeasure of his situation as he struggles but, fuck, his arms are tied really good behind the back of this cold, metal chair, the object only warm in the spots his skin has rested. He freezes at the sound of a door opening. There's silence a moment, and then the heavy door shuts. Footsteps echo in the possibly empty room, edging ever closer to him. He begins to wiggle yet again, his wrists being rubbed raw at his violent attempts to see freedom. He gives a growl at the sound of the strangers laugh. Fuck him. Fuck him and everything he's ever done with his life._

_There's a sudden squeaky sound along with rolling of wheels. He can't tell for sure, but he thinks it's a table maybe. There's another sound. It's quick and unforgiving, a sudden yelp of metal against metal. This guy has something, something sharp and it only makes him panic more. He moves to struggle again but he's stopped by the stranger gripping his hair with a firm hand. The stranger puts whatever he has back down on his table before gripping Trevor's arm of his long-sleeved shirt, managing to rip in off with a quick tug, Trevor giving an alarmed yelp. The guy picks up whatever he had again, keeping Trevor's head pinned under his hand to keep it turned away from him.Then Trevor feels it. Cold metal digging into his upper arm, carving into him, his hot blood set free. It fucking hurts. Really bad. Trevor gives a pained shout, attempting to wiggle yet again before the stranger puts all of his weight into his elbow, pressing it against Trevor's chest to keep him still as he keeps cutting into the teenagers arm, as if drawing a picture. There's only so much pain Trevor can handle and this is a bit too much, even for him. He can't help but shout and scream against the fabric in his mouth, his victimized arm trembling madly, his fingers stretching and curling against an again. He can feel his own blood traveling down his arm to drip onto the floor. He here's every little droplet hit the ground, no doubt forming a tiny puddle. God, it's fucking endless and good lord, he can barely stand it anymore. Just as the stranger pulls away, he starts writhing again, adjusting his lips a bit to engulf a bit of the fabric, holding it between his teeth as he gives a growl, like a fucking animal, he's ready to fight..._

 

 

"For fucks sake, Trevor, get up!"

 

Trevor's eyes snap open and he's greeted by familiar, brown eyes. Ryan. Brilliant. The asshole doesn't even look concerned, more tired and angry. He also looked like he recovered from another blackout, as he even reeked of cheap hooker perfume and weed. "What the fuck is wrong with you, screaming in the middle of the fucking night?!"

"Thank you for your concern, brother of mine..." Trevor said with with venom lining his tongue, a hand moving to rub his eyes. That one was too real. Too fucking real. His arm was even stinging...

"Fucking idiot. You need to move your bed, your arm was resting on the heater again." Ryan said, running his fingers along the five burn lines on his younger brothers arm, the smaller male hissing and instinctively pulling away. "Fuck, I'll do it in the morning, don't fucking touch me..."

"Fine. But the next time you start cooking yourself, I'm not helping you. Stupid prick." His brother was gone without another word and Trevor is thankful for that. Fights between them had been getting much more frequent lately and, honestly, Trevor didn't want to sit through another one. Just like his nightmares, the left him feeling sore and begging for more sleep. Everything was getting worse and all he could really do was blame other people. Like Winters, Brad, that asshole Moses, Michael-

Michael... He'd been the only light in this dark-ass year. He tolerated Trevor, for the most part, and he always listened. He would always have an answer and he'd always ask a question, too. He had a 'Don't fuck with me or I'll shove my kleet in your dickhole' attitude that Trevor both admired and found joy in. He was there like no one else was and lately, whenever the jock smiled at him, Trevor felt a warmth in his belly that, for some reason, made him want to puke. This warmth, this-this-this... **_Longing_** , if you want to call it- It was alien to Trevor. He didn't like how it felt. Or, maybe he did, he just didn't understand it. He'd see Michael at school in the morning and Michael will smile at him and, for some reason, Trevor thinks it will be ok. He hopes it will be ok. As long as Michael, his friend, his only true, best friend was there...

 

He'd be ok.

\----------------------------------

This morining is fucking hetic, as to be expected. Everyone's chatting with each other, wondering what on earth their asshole principal called an assembly for. Trevor's not too concerned with the idea, probably just an announcement to remind the student body how terrible their school is but to give false encouragement to help make it better. Winters will put on his best, cliche smile that he can, giving terribly overdone gestures to top it off as he exaggerates his vice with thrity different vocal ranges, all to pull off the perfect assembly. Get better, tch. It won't get better, though. It never will.

Regardless of what Trevor is thinking at the top of the bleachers in the gym, he can't deny how much school spirit these guys have, especially for such a shitty school. The cheerleaders are cheering, despite not even being in uniform, their hair up in bouncy pony-tails as the did a routine they had been practicing. In front of them were the Jocks, some of them whistling and giving occasional cat-calls to the joyful girls making a show for them. other Jocks simply sat back against the bleachers, tense and a bit upset. One of them was Michael. Trevor new him instantly when he saw him. Dark, almost black hair glistening with gel, his Letterman sporting the number seventeen. Why such a low number? Michael was the quarterback, after all. The most prized gem in any football team, he should at least have the number two or one. Then again, Trevor knew next to nothing about football anyways.

It wasn't even his number that bothered the teenager, no, it was the fact that Michael wouldn't even look at him ever since that ass-hat Brad pulled a Houdini and vanished from the face of the earth. It was like Michael was blaming him for that, giving him occasional glances that weren't exactly angry but, hell, they weren't welcoming either. He'd completely ignore him during lunch now (meaning he wasn't getting free food anymore), but that might have been because of is whore, Amanda. She was definitely controlling enough to tell Michael to stay away. At least Trevor could live with that. He could live with a bitch being defensive of her man, give him glares, middle fingers and spit at him like he was dirt. He could live with every single inch of that. What Trevor couldn't stand was the idea that Michael was mad at him, especially for something he didn't do. Michael was his best and only friend, and Trevor cherished that like a special belonging. He didn't want to risk it all going down the toilet because a teammate was too much of a puss to come to school anymore.

Silence suddenly reigned the building as their ever-so-special-principal wandered to the middle of the gym, the cheerleaders scurrying to their seats as Winters steadied his mic, hazel eyes patiently waiting for the rowdy-ass nerds to shut the fuck up. Nobody fucking cared about Magic of The Gathering, why did they not understand that? Trevor was pulled from his mental instincts at the sight of Winters eyes. They were... somber. They still carried that unbearable weight, but they looked defeated. They made Trevor's throat clench, his heart sinking as his eyes suddenly darted for Michael. He had a feeling that this would not be a normal assembly after all, and from the looks of it, Michael could see it too, the slightly taller male tensing up much more than before. Trevor swears he can see the jock hold his breath, and when his pack-mates look at him, they mimic his actions, eyes of various colors gluing onto the principal. Once there was utter silence, Winters sighed, leaning forward towards the microphone.

" I understand that there is much concern about a student of ours, Brad Snider, where has he been and why. I am hear to give answers." He says. The Jocks are almost shaking now, desperate to know exactly what Winters has to say. " I will say to you right now, it is not good news. In fact, it's no where near pleasant, so, I won't beat around the bush..." Winters seems to trail off, as if he lost his train of thought. It's making the Jocks more anxious. Michael himself looks ready to tear the damned words from Winters' mouth.

"Brad Snider is dead." There's a loud gasp that echos in the large room, the only other noise being the nails of the Jocks digging into the wooden bleachers beneath them. Trevor looks at Michael and his heart sinks at the sight. The jock is a visible wreck, trembling as if with anger. Such an emotion that everyone knew well from the jock, but this time... It was different. "How he died wasn't anymore pleasant. He was murdered. Murdered by the same sick fiend who took Amber Tay from us just last year."

There's another gasp and someone even gives a scream of sheer shock. Trevor himself feels cold and ready to run. He hated Brad, he always did, but... Fuck, he didn't necessarily want him dead...

"Extreme security measures must be taken to prevent this from ever happening again. From now on, every one who walks to school must be accompanied by another classmate or an adult. we will be sending home forms to inform parents what has happened as well as a request for their permission to allow you continue to come to school. As scared as you all are, you still need an education..."

Fuck, Trevor tones out the rest of it. What a fucking jackass. Yea, an education was SO worth a knife in the gut. Though, he already felt like he'd been stabbed, as his eyes have not left Michael. He keeps sinking, curling into himself as if he's trying desperately to cope with this new groundbreaking information. He'd love to go down there, to pull Michael close and tell him it would be ok, but anger seems to click in his heart as Amanda's beaten him to it by now. Why the fuck he even felt angry just looking at her was beyond him. He guessed it was just because he just really, really, really fucking despised how she acted like such a Cliche cheerleader.

Winters would drone on for a considerable amount of time, and yet, Trevor refused to stop looking at Michael. He, like all the other Jocks just... Sank. It was rather disconcerting, especially to the rest of the school. They too seemed to keep their eyes on the football team, eyes somber and sympathetic. Trevor could even swear Winters was faltering a bit looking at how miserable the team looked because he fumbled over his words for a moment, eyes darting in another direction to avoid giving into his own emotions as he continued. It felt like forever before they were dismissed back to their classrooms. It was second hour by now, near the end of it at least, yet Trevor felt the need to skip class entirely. Why, he wasn't even sure. He thinks it's because when he raced down the Bleachers to say something, anything to Michael, the Jock and his suddenly fuming pack of testosterone filled Snow Sharks stormed out in one big cloud of faces twisted with emotions and clenched fists. They looked ready to demolish anything in sight. It was like they could turn into a giant bulldozer and take out the town. Trevor had felt this anger before. When Ryan had simply dismissed his wonderful mother being jailed for a lie... However, this is a totally different situation.

He stands in his usual spot outside the school as kids pour into their classrooms and yet, the Jocks seemed to have other plans. The herd of kleets stomped across the foyer, through the school gate and out of campus grounds, Michael no doubt leading the way. The others were simply following. Michael knew what to do, he always knew what to do. And they'd be damned if he'd led them astray before. It was usually highly illegal for a big group of kids to ditch like this- illegal to Winters, anyway- and yet they didn't seem to have a care in the world. No one had any idea where they were going, not even Trevor. He could't guess where Michael was heading, what was whirling around in his head as his fists clenched so hard, his knuckles turned white. It wasn't even normal for him to act this way. Yes, Michael had terrible anger issues and he tended to explode on a lot of people, especially nerds who would misstep, thinking they were big and bad enough to face a fucking quarterback, but his anger was never as bad as this. The air around him seemed to heat up with his terrible fury, and Trevor was wise enough to leave Michael be for today. He didn't want to end up right in the middle of the fucking hurricane that was Michael Townley.

Winters was seen for a moment, but only to hesitantly start towards the gate to call after the boys before stopping, his boots scuffing the ground. Giving a heavy sigh, the principal turned to go back to the school, offering Trevor a, for once, calm gaze. He wasn't going to tell Trevor to go inside and he wasn't going to go after the team, either. He knew very well that everyone needed their own time to heal, even Trevor did, but for different reasons. His school was falling part right now and in record time. He was determined to get it back together. He couldn't go chasing after football players right now. And honestly, neither could Trevor.

 

\-----------------------------------

 

"You know, if you're gonna be such a bitch about it, I'll just go ahead and leave. Fuck."

 

Trevor didn't get women sometimes. Maybe it was because he's never really spent any time with them. Maybe it was because they always seemed to have an idea for their future, shining knight in armor and all. How fucking idiotic. Just like this clerk girl who just won't cut him some slack and give him alcohol. He's a year away from it being legal for him to buy and suddenly, it's a crime to have one bottle. She should really fucking learn generosity. Leaving the cheap-ass convenience store behind him, Trevor shoved his hands in his pockets, shuddering in the sudden cold on his skin. It was only about four hours after school got out and the Jocks never showed their faces. They never came back to ease the minds of their bouncy cheerleaders. They didn't even come back for practice, that which angered their coach to the point of literally popping a football under his foot. It reminded Trevor why he never took sports seriously and why he severely judged those who did so.

Regardless, Trevor still felt a heavy guilt on his shoulders. Seeing Michael the way he was, well... It just wasn't normal. Funny. How a football player became a normalcy to him. How his hair often glistened in the sunlight, if there was any, how his smile warmed his belly no matter hour cold it was, how Michael shook Trevor gently by the shoulder in a comforting manner when he got through to Trevor enough for him to vent a bit. It was all like a dream whenever it happened, like if Trevor happened to reach out and touch him, he'd just vanish with the wind. No smile. No warmth. It was one of the reasons why Trevor found himself bashing his head into a wall, wondering why on earth he cared so much, wondering why any of it mattered at all. Nothing **ever** mattered to him. Well, ok, maybe deep, deep, _**deep**_ down, he cared a bit for his big brother. Honestly, He often wished that he were different, not wasting his life away on alcohol, drugs and women. It was the way their father lived and it was damned pitiful. It was why, even though he did care, Trevor really hated his brother, chastising and judging him, as if it would help change him at all. Ryan was slipping further away lately. He often stared into nothing, eyes bloodshot and breathing ragged. It looked like he was ready to have a heart attack and no matter how hard Trevor tried, Ryan never responded to him until he would suddenly snap out of his trance, shooting a glare at his brother and telling him to fuck off.

Trevor knew Ryan would most likely be dead in the next few years, whether it be caused because of his drug problems or any other cause. He knew it and he tried as hard as he could to ignore it. Loosing people... It really wasn't his forte.

As chance would have it, Trevor found himself stopping in his tracks on the street, eyes continuing forward seemingly without him as he spotted a figure ahead. A very familiar figure. Short, but still maybe a centimeter taller than him, a cigarette in his mouth as he stood by himself in the wind, leaning back against a lamp post. His Letterman was illuminated by the light the lamp gave off, as was his slicked hair. Trevor didn't need to play Twenty Questions to know who this was. If there was indeed a God, was he trying to fuck with him? Of course Michael would appear as he's thinking about him. He'd soon blame it on plot convenience as he walked forward again.

Fore some reason, Trevor felt a sudden warmth in his belly rising the closer he got to Michael. He also found his steps to be oddly heavy and slow, as if in slow motion. The feelings made Trevor shake his head vigorously, as if to shake away whatever was plaguing his body at the time. Then, he got even closer, and closer. Michael was a few yards away now and Trevor suddenly felt very stressed and rather panicky as his heart began to race. What? Was he going to pass out _again?_ Just fucking terrific, right in front of Michael, too. A trip to the hospital, no doubt. Michael would freak out and call an ambulance and then Trevor would spent the rest of the night, fighting to get out of a hospital gown, back into his clothes and back into his clothes. His clothes that reminded him of the warmth in his tummy, the warmth he always seemed to feel when he was with Michael, that odd happiness he wasn't used to. The way Michael would give him a sideways glance and smile and the way it made Trevor feel like he was going to melt. The was Michael would stretch or look in another direction or breathe or do  _anything_ and the way it always made Trevor feel caused him shiver a bit. Most of his memories and his thoughts were associated with that fucking Jock lately, that stupid, narcissistic, depressed, terrific, funny--

"Trevor?" It was now that Trevor realized that people _really_ liked to push his thoughts out of his face. 

He'd glance up at Michael, who had thrown his cigarette to the ground and stamped it out by now, his posture not exactly relaxed, more tired and defeated. It made Trevor feel that ridiculous guilt again. But that wasn't what bothered him. Michael happened to have a pretty dark eye. A black eye. Trevor suddenly felt a new eotion reign, one that was more familiar.

"...Hey..." He said with a little more aggression than he wanted.

"Hey." 

"..." Well. This was fucking stimulating. "I, uh... I was wondering where you took your pack to today."

Michael shrugged, his head turning as he looked away, one hand going in a pocket as the other hung by his side, a bit stained red with blood. Apparently Michael was either going to theater makeup lessons or he was a total fucking jackass. "That's not an answer, Mike. Mind telling me where you got that pretty ring at?" Trevor said, gesturing to the hand that he kept staring at. A bit confused, Michael raised his hand to look at his bloody knuckle, soon glancing away and huffing a laugh.   
  
"Ah, that..."

"Yes, that. Where did you get that." 

Michael stared at him with emotionless eyes that seemed to be trying to remember something before they lit up with his normal narcissistic passion. "The bikers." 

"You mean the Polar-pricks?"

"Yea. Me and the team were kinda angry-"

"Kinda?" Trevor would smile.

"Yea, kinda. We kicked their asses, though. They barely even hit me." He said with a cocky tone that made Trevor's smile widen. 

"Yea, your new eye patch is proof of that, Mikey." Michael gave an honest laugh, giving a toothy grin as his uninjured hand moved to scratch his head. As usual, Trevor watched his every move as if the Jock was a gazelle in the Serengeti. Fragile, yet tough and could easily kick your sorry ass.

The two would share pity banter for the next few minutes before Michael suggested that they go inside somewhere, as it was getting much, much colder than either of them expected. Trevor couldn't offer an idea, but Michael seemed to have one regardless if Trevor had an idea himself anyways. And as the Canadian teenager followed the Jock, eyeing his footprints, then Michael, and back and forth, he really couldn't deny how fucking proudly the Jock walked. He walked with so much determination, he'd probably be able to nail jello to a tree. Then again, it would freeze quickly, so Michael could cheat in that. The idea made him smile a bit to himself, with the expression shifted to a confused one as he realized they had stopped right in front of a movie theater. A run down one, anyways. Well... when he said 'run down', he meat that no one was ever in charge there and no one ever showed up there. However, in the darkness of night, it's broken neon sign was always shining brightly. And he could tell from the way Michael was grinning that he loved it here, and this wasn't the first time he'd been here either.

They wandered inside, observing old promotional posters for movies long-since passed. Most of them were done by a young producer, Solomon Richards. Trevor didn't really know who that was, but Michael mentioned him enough to know that the Jock was tremendously inspired by him. He'd always throw in quotes from Solomon's movies into his everyday sentences and thought Trevor never got the references, he'd always just smile and call Michael a movie-whore. Honestly, he adored it when Michael would completely geek out over movies, gushing about how much he loved them. Just like now. Trevor could honestly say that he hadn't looked at a single poster. He just stared at Michael, watching him explain the plot to each movie before tossing out a few lines of dialogues. He'd constantly nudge Trevor, getting him to look at posters whether he wanted to or not and Trevor really tried to pretend he was interested even if he wasn't. He just wanted to watch Michael, watch such a previously depression and broken Jock be so animated and happy. So innocent and fragile. So... _free_. This was Michael's habitat, Trevor assumed. He felt kind of lucky to be in here with the elated Jock. It really made him feel special. 

And it got better when Michael peeked into one of the show rooms, his face, brightening. "Trevor, fuck, look! One of the movies is on!! C'mon, c'mon, it's just barely started!!!" 

God, he sounded like a small child as he practically ran into the room, Trevor trying to keep up as best as he could as he attempted not to laugh. The movie was obviously broken in some way, as it had no sound and the video often glitched out. Michael didn't care. He sat right in the middle row, eyes glued on the giant, dirty and ripped screen. Trevor took a seat beside him, legs moving to kick up on top of the back of the seat in front of him. 

Trevor honestly tried to get into the movie, honestly, but he just didn't fucking get it. This guy had a gun. He shot it once. The girl made out with him. Ah... He kinda forgot what happened after there. He looked around. Got bored. Wiggled his feet. Got bored. Thought about bombing a village in a cool plane... Well, that wasn't really boring, but the idea kinda faded. 

"Me and my mom used to come here when I was a kid." Michael suddenly chimed, seemingly in a daze as he stared at the screen. Trevor honestly looked very startled as he whipped his head around to look at Michael. "We'd come and see a movie every Friday 'cus it was free for kids on Friday. She'd always get me a soda and a piece of candy to eat with my popcorn. She'd always kinda laugh at me whenever I'd say the lines to the movie 'cus I had kind of a... Lisp, if you wanna say, when I was a kid. A speech impenitent or whatever. I'd laugh with her because... It was just me and her. Dad always worked on Friday, so, it was  _our_ time."

Trevor was quiet for a time. Michael's relationship with his mother always made him sort of jealous. IT was a bond that he'd always wanted to share with his own mom... He'd never know it now, he was sure... "So, what stopped you two from goin'?" 

Michael seemed to look disheartened, his gaze going to a broken seat a few rows up. "She, uh... Got into an accident... She was walkin' home from the store before I got out of school and she got run over by some drunk jackass... She messed up her hip so ad that... I dunno. She just told me that it couldn't be fixed. She can't stand up for too long and walking isn't really all that great for her either..." 

Trevor didn't really know what to say. Michael had never shared anything with him about his mother other than she lost her job recently and she doesn't really leave the house. What should he say? He had half a mind to give a pun, but...

"She ain't doin' so good no more. She gets sick all the time now because her immune system is shit from her not being able to eat certain things anymore. She barely lived through a bad flu she got last year..." Michael sighed. "Every day, she still smiles, though... And... It makes me feel happier... But then I et depressed again because I know that everyday, she'd dying. And she's only smiling because that's all she can really do anymore." 

Michael stops there and Trevor doesn't need him to continue. Putting his feet back on the floor, the Canadian gently placed a hand on Michael's closest (and injured) hand, trying his best to comfort him. He really doesn't know what to say at this point--

"What about your mom, Trevor? You don't say much about her." Trevor jumps at the sudden question, his hand recoiling. He hesitates, trying to think out an answer thoroughly before clearing his throat. "She's, uh... she's great. Best mom ever..." 

"Trevor." Michael says, looking right at him. He seemed to know exactly when Trevor was lying anymore and it really pissed off the younger teen. In a fit of rage, his hands gripped his own knees and squeezed, his teeth grinding. He tried and tried to contain himself. Yet... 

"My mother is the most beautiful woman ever. But, she was completely ruined by my idiot fucking father who spent his life convincing her that abuse towards her, my brother and I was a GOOD thing. And she fucking Believed that fucking snake. _Sooo_ , she started chastising her youngest child, mocking him for how frail he was, telling him he'd never amount to anything. and he believed her, too. But he hated his stupid fucking father. So, in an attempt to prove his flower of a mother right, he stood up to his drunk-ass old man and got the shit beaten out of him by a fucking **lamp**." He didn't have to look at Michael to tell the Jock was rather alarmed. "Trevor never said anything because he loved his mother even though he knew she didn't love him! But he kept  _lying_ to himself!! and when his father showed up dead, little Trevor broke down in emotional exhaustiveness and told his mother about how he was almost killed by that **fucking lamp.** But she didn't believe him, noooooooo, she smashed her fucking beer bottle against his face and left the house, only to ever be seen again on the Tv in handcuffs! AND THAT WAS WHEN TREVOR LEARNED THAT HE SHOULD **NEVER** LOVE OR TRUST ANYONE!! BECAUSE EVERYONE HE LOVES HURTS HIM!!!"

He began to breathe heavily, his nails digging into his own flesh. He couldn't stop there. No matter how hard he wanted to ad how hard he tried. "But then, Trevor met a Jock in high school who started being all nice! And Trevor got confused and fucking flustered because the principal was being a complete creep and the Jock was making him feel-- Feel-- Fuck, I don't know!!!" He glared at Michael, gritting his teeth. The Jock was listening intently and although stiff, he didn't really seem to be bothered by the last comment. He actually looked interested in the subject. 

"I hate you! I hate you because you're so nice, so sweet to me after I haven't done jack shit to you!! You're making me feel all these emotions and, fuck, I try to be mad at you so much but then you make me feel wanted or something and then I suddenly can't feel mad anymore all because just looking at you makes me feel like I'm having a heart attack!!! I get worried about you for no reason and when you laugh, I laugh and I feel all fuzzy and urhg! I hate you so much, I would kill you, Michael Townley!! Fuck you, fuck your football team, fuck your amazing green eyes, fuck everything you stand for!!!" 

After he was done, he panted harshly, feeling almost a years worth of stress instantly leave him. After gaining his composure, he finally looked at Micheal. The Jock really had an expressionless face. He just stared, as if Trevor wasn't even there at all. The Canadian didn't like how he couldn't tell what Michael was feeling. The idea made his heart suddenly sink at the possibilities that raced through his head. He just stared at Michael, brown eyes burning with a fiery intent as he practically  _dared_ him to say something. Though he was eager to know what the Jock was thinking, he felt slightly afraid at what it might be. Then, Michael shifted, his arm suddenly moving into a position similar to a snake, ready to lunge. Trevor was ready, though. He was ready to be punched. God, he'd been fucking  _dying_ for a fight. The idea of blood being spilled made his mouth water with an intent as Michael's face looked a bit more stern, his figure leaning closer. He looked ready to fight, too. What for? He didn't need a reason. He didn't want a reason. All he wanted was Michael to be dead.

Michael moved, his hands lunging, seemingly for the neck, but instead took the sides of Trevor's face. For that brief second he had, Trevor was startled, his anger suddenly faltering. But then, his anger completely vanished as Michael pulled his head close while simultaneously lunging forward with his own, their lips ultimately crashing together in a sudden and rather odd attack. Trevor felt his breath hitch in complete surprise as he tried to contemplate everything that was happening, his body stiffening. But, soon, he relaxed. Michael's lips actually felt... Good. Really fucking good. As his heart hammered in his chest, Trevor found his eyes suddenly feeling heavy. He fluttered them for a moment before letting them fall, eyes completely shut as Michael kept him still. 

It was brief but intense, their lips moving against each other as if they were meant to be together. Michael gave a groan that made Trevor shudder and, fuck, he groaned, too. It felt good. It felt right. Yet, he felt terrified. It only worsened at the sudden sensation of Michael's tongue trying to push into his mouth. By then, Trevor had gotten a grip and pushed the older male with not a lot of force, his lips suddenly feeling cold with the absence of Michael's.

Trevor continued to pant, his eyes wide in surprise and, as much as he wanted to deny it, he was blushing horribly. So much, his ears even felt hot. Michael looked very amused, a smile creasing on his face as his cheeks brightened to a light shade of pink, his tongue moving to lick his own lips. Trevor gulped and Michael chuckled nervously, and yet, he looked as happy a a small child, a grin forcing it's way onto his face.

"I have no idea why I did that." 

Honestly, Trevor didn't know either. But he liked it. So, he smiled back, shaking a bit, more out of surprise than out of simply being cold. He really didn't know if he was dreaming for if Michael really just molested his mouth with his own, and he really didn't want to decipher it at the moment. But, for some reason, Michael seemed to be really fond of this new phenomenon. That, or something else. 

" You know, you're kind of cute when you blush." 

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Michael's grin impossibly widened. "I have no fucking clue, dude. I think I'm freaking out, to be honest with you." 

"Do you need an ambulance?" 

"Do you?" 

"Why do you say that?" 

Michael started laughing. What even the fuck kind of drug did he inhale. "Because you're so fucking red, dude, you look like you got burnt." 

Trevor socked him in the arm and, even though he didn't mean to, he started laughing, too. Why he was having so much fun was a total mystery. His gut was doing back flips in his stomach as he tried to process this new information and emotions being forced down his throat.

Michael was, by all accounts, a fucking asshole that he so desperately hated. and yet, he really couldn't say that he'd rather Michael to be dead at the moment.   **At the moment.** But Michael was already swearing up and down that he was totally and outrageously in love with his stupid slut, Amanda. Was it a lie? another facade for his father to inhale? Trevor could really only ask 'why', but he never did outwardly that night. He and Michael eventually went their separate ways as if nothing had happened. To Michael, it might have just been an innocent little kiss, but to Trevor, it was kind of a big deal. Here's this guy, listening, understanding, consoling him in his darkest times, forgiving his misdeeds and even showing him affection he thought he'd never encounter. 

Trevor just still didn't know why. And tomorrow, he still wouldn't know why.

 

This school year was... Something. **  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That kiss scene was AWFUL. 
> 
> It'll be better next time, when there's more of a reason to kiss and not just a spur of 'Hey, these other guys are good at writing, maybe I am, too." 
> 
> And I'm not. 
> 
> I'm really not. 
> 
> B u t I d o n ' t c a r e .
> 
> I n h a l e m y g a r b a g e .


	6. A Message From Muddypaws375

**WARNING: CHAPTER EMBARRASSINGLY SHORT.**

 

Hello, you sexy peices of delicious ass~ it's your good friend, fluffy, wolf friend Muddy! I'm here with some announcements of many varieties that cover everything that's happening in my mind. I don't wanna blab forever, so let's just get to it!

 

**Plans For 'Predators Of The Snow'**

So, the next chapter might take a very long time to appear. Not because I've lost interest, but because I have a massive case of writers block and the amount of stress I'm feeling from schoolwork is not helping at all. Now, what will be helpful to speed along the next chapters is idea's that can help me get it done. It will basically be a fucking around chapter, nothing extremely important other than sex or a character death can happen. Hear are some options, please give me your opinions on what you want to read. 

1: Michael and Trevor do it.

2: M and T get into a fight with bikers.

3: Trevor and Ryan get into a fight.

4: Ryan OD's.

5: Winters us a creep. Molesting and stuff is absolutely an option. *Lenny face.*

6: You can suggest combo's or give me more ideas!

So, with all this in mind, the next chapter is not expected to be out for a long time. Maybe, just maybe after Thanksgiving, but for now, I really have nothing for you guys unfortunately.However, I want this story to basically be a... Group effort, let's just say. Meaning, I want the next chapter to be dedicated to you lovely people! Please be patient give your ideas!

 

**Fanfictions I've Been Thinking About Writing**

So, I've had a couple Ideas. All are GTA V and I want your opinion.  Here they are.

 

Texas Blood Money:

An AU that completely reimagines and surrounds Michael as a character, making him a literal emotionless narcissist with a passion for bloodshed. Further ideas about this will will manifest later. 

Paper Planes:

Trevor's plane crashes while he's on a mission, leaving him stranded and alone. While he fights for survival against the wilderness and his injuries, Michael is left to sulk in Los Santos, mulling over why he's missing the meth addict so much and what he's really been feeling about him all along. No death in mind so far.

The Offspring ( name may change ):

An idea that surrounds and OC named Dylan, who after moves to Los Santos after living alone in North Yankton for all his life, runs into Trevor Philips, a man who later turns out to be his father. Dylan, learning to cope with the idea of parents, also has to deal with a deformity in his mind that causes several different problems for him. 

 

Tell me what you think! Until then, please be patient, I'll try to get the next chapter as soon as I can. Your support means the world to me. ♥♥♥

 

Also, if you ever have fanart, suggestions or anything for me, I'll get to you and talk to you about it personally through a different media! Bye, guys!! 

Edit: I'm sorry this is so short. I wrote this right before bed and I'm also a little ill, so that isn't helping.


	7. Some Nights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short. This chapter is sweet. This chapter has s m u t .
> 
> Well, kinda. 
> 
> Still kinda docking points on myself because of how short this is. To be completely honest, this chapter has been done for a while, hence why it's so short. I'm actually still working on the next one and I forgot to post this one. 
> 
> I don't expect you guys to be absolutely enamoured with this chapter, anyways. Hate it all you want because I sure as hell an a bit disappointed in this chapter.
> 
> Enjoy.

Whoever the hell was singing 'Spooky Scary Skeletons' this hour really needed to quite before he lost his own skeleton. It wasn't even a good song. They should sing something like 'This Is Halloween" or something, a song people would actually listen to without cringing. The singing, the jokes, the planning, however, easily signaled what everyone was so joyful about. Halloween was getting closer and closer and the idea simply excited Trevor.

He wasn't fond of most holidays, except for two. Halloween and Christmas. Halloween, because it was easier to do illegal things without getting caught. And Christmas because everyone around him was so cheerful, lights were so bright and it all honestly made Trevor feel much better about himself, made him feel a lot less depressed than he usually felt. However, that was still a ways away. Now, he had the opportunity to be oddly in love with the art that was starting to pop up on the school grounds. It all oddly made the school look much better than it was, which was worthy of some kind of reward. It was really hard to make fun of the decorations and drawings everyone was making in the art classes. Everything was done so well. The amount of time and effort going into each piece was so obvious, it made Trevor feel a little proud for his dreadful classmates. He'd considered putting up one of his own drawings but, lately, he just hasn't been feeling inspired enough to draw in the slightest. Not even little dicks carved into the tables in all of his classes were honestly a good idea to him. No, his mind was one something else. Well, someone else.

If Trevor really thought about it, it was only a few weeks since he and his only friend, Michael, shared a rather passionate kiss in a run-down movie theater. Reflecting on it now even made Trevor's gut warm up and the sensation made him adjust in his seat. He really didn't understand what happened to cause the kiss either, Trevor was busy shouting and it just... Happened. Though, the Canadian couldn't really complain. Michael's lips were really soft and lovely to touch, his hands on his skin felt natural and seemingly done with practice. God dammit, why was he even really thinking so deeply about it? It was a thing that happened. That's it. Maybe it was meant to calm the wannabe pilot down or maybe it was because Michael was getting curious about himself. Hell, even Trevor had been questioning his sexual orientation for a long time now. Maybe it was because he really liked how perky and bouncy boobs were, yet he also quite admired a noticeable bulge. Maybe it was because an ass was attractive on any gender. Maybe it was because Trevor was a lonely asshole. Yea, that one.

As the bell rang to signal that it was time for students to head to third hour, the Canadian stood with the others moving towards the door after everyone else had gone. A sudden feeling in his skull made him latch onto the side of a table and hesitate, his breath quickening without his permission. Really? Again? This was getting way out of hand and it was bothering him. But he didn't want anyone to know that. No one could ever know that. So when the teacher ave him a concerned look, he pressed forward out the classroom making it to the wall on the opposite side of the hallway just before he fell down, bracing himself against the wall as he tried to look as calm as he could. Trevor hadn't eaten in about four days now. He'd been denying any food Michael offered him and ignored every single opportunity to steal food. Why didn't really matter, he just didn't. Maybe he was punishing himself for something he himself didn't know about. But, he was used to this by now, which might not have been healthy, but whatever. It would roll over as long as he could stay up. He'd shake it off and he' be ok until he'd try to snatch whatever Michael had for lunch today. He'd see Michael and it would be better. It would be over soon.

Luckily, he was right. As usual, it simply left as quickly as it came, leaving the Canadian out of breath and light headed as usual, his limbs a bit shaky as well. Thankfully, he didn't hit the fucking floor again like he usually did. Unfortunately, he was very late third hour. Oh, man what a shame, he'd say in his head with a roll of his eyes. He wasn't exactly wanting to sit through class anymore anyways. He'd just skip.

It took him quite some maneuvering past what little staff their was to finally get out of the building and walk cross the foyer, his boots crunching against icy patches on the ground, the noise a bit soothing to Trevor. Why, he couldn't explain. He just liked it. As he began his walk home, he started to think to himself like usual. This school year was insane, he thought. But it was only becoming even more of a mystery now that Michael was acting a bit too cozy around him ever since that kiss. Now, whenever they'd hang out after school, which was a rare event in itself, he'd be thrown out of his thoughts or his sentences would be cut short because Michael was either staring at him with that stupid fucking smile of his, he'd brush his hand against Trevor's or he'd scoot closer casually. Like always, Trevor would give the smallest blush which would make Michael chuckle and cause the Canadian to blush even more and it was so fucking irritating. He'd recall a time when Trevor was complaining about Ryan being particularly douchey that day and he was stopped when, for some fucking reason, Michael started playing with his hair. When he inquired the Jock, he simply stated that he thought there was something in the wannabe pilots hair as he continued to play with the rough locks. It made no sense to Trevor, and yet, he really didn't have the heart to stop the older male. For some reason, the attention was greatly appreciated. Maybe because he wasn't really used to it at all.

Another thing to think about was Winters, who was maybe the definition of a mystery. This guy was so suspicious one moment and then totally transparent the next. Showing concern for his students, even suggesting they leave and come to school in pairs was an honest-to-God surprise to Trevor. Winters was one to also leer closely on Trevor's daily activities which was greatly disliked by the Canadian, so much so that he made it a point to make it known by either throwing an insult at the principal or threatening to hit him. And every time, every single fucking time, he smiled. Winters fucking smiled and laughed in his face. It was so. Fucking. Irritating. But then, after laughing, he'd get close, like, real close. Close enough for Trevor's face to heat up in utter frustration at the idea of having no fucking clue of what to do because Winters eyes would hold him in place, the unknown force of his authority, his boldness, his whatever, it held Trevor there. And Winters knew it. It only made him smile and laugh more ad it was stupid. So stupid. Like Michael. Michael was definitely stupid.

No. Trevor was stupid. He was stupid for letting both a Jock and a principal get under his skin. he was stupid for believing in a non-existent facade that he didn't even know about. He was just fucking stupid. That's what he kept spitting at himself as he glanced up, taking notice that he had avoided going to his house again, the familiar streets of his familiar town filling his gaze. He didn't blame himself for coming here. he didn't want to encounter Ryan right now and listen to him bitch because he wasn't at school. As if he really fucking cared. Hell if Ryan ever cared about anything. Well, if he was here, he could at least try to smuggle food out of the supermarket again. It worked last time, at least.

Making his way to a 24/7, he took notice of the little amount of cars in the parking lot. It wasn't unusual but it wasn't common, either. He'd guess that half the people in town had work today or maybe there was an accident and everyone was busy either stuck in traffic or letting their invading eyes examine every single part of whatever happened. The people in this town were so fucking nosy, it was disgusting. He hated it whenever someone would ask him how he was doing that day. What did they fucking care? Why did they feel obligated to check on him? He wasn't their problem. 'Fuck off' he'd tell them, and they'd leave him be, shooting dirty glares over their shoulders that Trevor couldn't help but chuckle at. Walking into the not-so-big supermarket, he inhaled the smell of fresh-out-of-the-oven cakes. The smell was so intoxicating, it made him shiver in delight as the welcome scent mixed with the warmth in the store. It felt like home in here, which would b insanely confusing to someone if he told them so. 'A supermarket is not a house', they would say. And they'd be right. Because Trevor didn't really know what a proper home was anyways.

Making his way up and down isles, he browsed whatever he could fit in his pocket that would also help this ever present ache in his gut. Crackers? No, they'd make too much noise. Same for a small package of cereal. Top-ramen? Fuck no. he didn't care how hungry he was. He really, really didn't like Asian food. It made him feel so sick after eating it and he'd always throw it back up. He'd guess it was the pasta. A soup can? Too visible. Fuck, everything was too noticeable in here. He was reminded that last time, he took a small package of carrots that, while they tasted good, did jack shit for his hunger. In fact, it only made it worse. Growing irritated from not finding anything suitable, he contemplated being ballsy about it, grabbing a big thing and running. Though, that might end badly. If he was caught, he'd be sent to jail for theft juvey if whatever judge he got was feeling good that day. He could live with either, really, but he'd get bored of it all and end up probably hurting someone which would end in a longer sentence because he was just that fucking complicated.

"Trevor?" He heard a feminine voice call, his head turning sharply in the direction of the voice. There he saw his art teacher, Mrs. Ann, in all her glory. She was wearing a pink dress, which was odd, considering how cold it was outside. But Trevor guessed she made up for it with the heavy jacket she had on as well as a black and gray scarf. She was also wearing high-heels, another oddity for winter. Man, she was a mystery but Trevor couldn't really complain. "Hey, Mrs. Ann." He replied calmly, turning fully to face her.

"What are you doing outside of school?" She asked, a concerned look on her face. God, why was everyone so curious about him?"I, uh... Wasn't feeling to well. Thought I'd just leave. That and I really didn't want to deal with Mrs. Jane, either." He couldn't help but give a small smile as Mrs. Ann gave a giggle, stepping over to him, towering over the Canadian like always.

"Yes, I hear she's quite and aggressive teacher."

"You heard right. She chewed me out for having a nightmare in class."

"In her defense, you shouldn't be sleeping in class, Mr. Philips."

"Yea, well..."

"It's ok, Mr. Philips. I understand. In fact, I called a sub today simply because I just couldn't handle today. Can you imagine that? a teacher, not wanting to be at school..." He didn't really have a response. He'd glance up at her brown eyes, a larger smile curling on his lips. He really did like her. Not enough to call it a crush, just that he had absolutely no problem with her. She was a nice teacher. Painfully nice. Like Michael... "So, what are you buying, Mr. Philips?"

"Me? Uh... Nothing, really... I don't have any money." He said honestly. She'd just prod him if he lied. "Really? well, what would you like? I'l buy it for you."

"Er... you don't have to do that, Mrs. Ann..."

"Please, I insist. I know you don't eat much, Trevor. I'm not blind. I can tell when ribs are poking out of peoples sides."

"When the f-..." He didn't need an answer. He often slept in art and when he woke up, he'd always stretch, his shirt lifting just enough to most likely show his ribs. Fuck his tiny clothes. 

He and Mrs. Ann began to walk slowly up and down isles together (whether Trevor wanted to or not), chatting and sharing their feelings about the school, about certain classmates and about Brad. Mrs. Ann apparently knew Brad. She happened to be friends with the deceased football players mother, and when she hear, she was quite broken up about it, both the art teacher and the grieving mother. Natalie Snider, Trevor learned was her name. Though he didn't care, he listened to her anyways as she went on. And when Mrs. Ann asked how he felt, he simply shrugged, saying he didn't know Brad that well, so it didn't bother him much. Well, aside from the whole 'murder' thing. Mrs. Ann nodded in understanding and changed subjects from Brad to Trevor's occasional art he would turn in. She commented that she was often taken away by his art and that she loved the hidden animals she had fun seeking in the art. Trevor was flattered, honestly, but he dismissed it, saying that he only drew when he needed to vent because he had no one to vent to. Mrs. Ann said she knew that feeling very well. Sometimes, when she'd be thinking about her husband, Adam, who was out fighting in the army, she would play a sad song, draw and cry. She'd sit there, wondering if Adam would ever come back. yet, she was always consoled when an occasional letter came in. As she was saying this, she began to get teary-eyed, her hand lifting to wipe her eyes as she forced a smile and a chuckle. She apologized, she hadn't really been able to talk to anyone about her husband in such a long time because, honestly, no one would listen. 

"...Well, y'know, Mrs. Ann, I think he'll come back. Really, I do. Your husband sounds like he really cares and... You shouldn't let that go. Some wives don't know that love. Some kids don't, either..." Trevor said, his eyes looking in the opposite direction as he remembered his mother, his beautiful, broken, trapped mother and his terrible father. There were times in class when Mrs. Ann was lecturing that he silently wished  _she_ was his mother. she had a loving touch and a caring voice that he adored. 

Mrs. Ann smiled softly at him, pulling him in with one arm to hug him, giggling softly. "Mr. Philips, honestly, If I had the capability to have a child, I'd want him to be just like you." 

"No you wouldn't. I get into fights, I do a lot of bad things, I'm... Really terrible." He'd say as if he was only  _now_ realizing this. He tilted his head in confusion as Mrs. Ann shook her head, still smiling softly.   


"You're not terrible, Mr. Philips, you're  _unique._ I love unique. Adam is very unique and, honestly... He was a lot like you when he was little." Trevor seemed a bit shocked. A army guy was like him...? 

"You're not as bad as you think. You do bad things, but those are just impulses that no one can help. You're gifted, talented and honestly a very sweet kid when you get to know people. I'll never judge you for anything you do, Trevor. If you need me, you tell me, ok?" 

"..." Trevor nodded, giving a shy smile. Between her and Michael, the compliments never ended. And honestly, he didn't want them to. He followed her up to the counter and even helped her carrier her bags to her car. She had a red Tailgater, which she claimed was actually Adam's and not hers. She was only driving it per his request. As he loaded the things into the trunk of her well taken care of car, Mrs. Ann suggested driving him home. He could even take some of what she had, she promised. Trevor tried, really tried in fact, to deny on account that he had nothing to pay her back with, but Mrs. Ann would not have it. In fact, she practically shoved the Canadian teenager into the passenger seat. not really having a choice, he continued to talk with her as she drove him home. It was nice to be in a car, he realized. Everything went so much faster in them. However, they were still dangerous of course. Probably why there were so many 'Don't text and drive' posters all over school. He didn't understand the rule that well because he didn't have a phone nor a car to drive, but hey, they weren't his rules to make. 

As they went down the dirt road to the trailer park Trevor lived in, he noticed that there were flashing blue and red lights ahead. Feeling his chest tighten, his hands gripped the seat he was currently sitting in. Shit. did the cops figure out about his brother's drug habits? He wasn't even aware Mrs. Ann was talking to him, asking if that was his house the cops were indeed in front of. But their weren't just cops... 

An ambulance. 'Do Not Cross' tape. A woman, blonde and wearing fish nets on her legs, a jacket covering up her most likely naked frame, was crying heavily. Trevor knew this girl. She was Ryan's regular. Christie, he thought her name was. But that wasn't what he was concerned about. There was something wrong... If this was indeed a drug bust, wouldn't he see Ryan in cuffs? Wouldn't Christie be in them, too? As soon as Mrs. Ann stopped the car, he dashed out of his seat, running right for the scene, so many emotions filling his chest, he felt like screaming. and he nearly did as he forced an officer to look at him. 

"The fuck is going on here?!" He demanded. "Where's Ryan?!?" 

"Sir, do you live here?" The officer replied calmly. Officer Madson, Trevor read on his stupid badge. What a fucking idiot. 

"Yea, I fucking live here! The blonde idiot is my brother, where is he?!" He nearly screamed. Officer Madson and his partner, Officer McKenzie, both glanced at each other, Madson taking his dumb hat off as McKenzie spoke into the radio on her shoulder. "Son, you need to have a seat." 

"No, fuck you, where's my brother, Goddammit!?!" Trevor said in a husky voice, Madson giving a sigh. 

"What is your name, sir?" 

"Trevor Fucking Philips, do I have to ask again?!" 

"Sir, I'll have to put you in handcuffs if you do not cooperate with me." Madson said in a threatening tone which forced Trevor to take a breath. After he calmed down a bit, he looked at Madson, the officer not exactly wearing a 'we got a drug dealer' face. "Mr. Philips, this woman here was heard screaming tonight. When we got here after being called by one of your neighbors, we found an intense amount of drugs that are very illegal in this state. Your brother, Ryan, was it? I'm afraid we didn't get here in time." 

"The fuck are you talking about...?" Trevor asked, feeling his heart beat quicken as well as his breath. Behind him, Mrs. Ann was slowly approaching, a look of pure worry on her face as she covered her mouth. 

"Mr. Philips, your brother had an overdose. He passed away before we arrived and attempts to resuscitate him failed." Trevor didn't hear Mrs. Ann gasp. He didn't even hear any of the words being said from anyone anymore except for Madson, who seemed t be the only thing left for him to see.

"Y-you're... Are you telling me my brother is..." 

"I'm sorry, Mr. Philips." Trevor felt his chest heaving as his eyes involuntarily carried over to a gurney that was being placed into the ambulance. A sheet was over someone, their cold, lifeless arm dangling on the side of the gurney.  It was then that it came crashing down on Trevor. His brother, his only family, the only thing he had left in this world that he could call his own flesh and blood... Was dead. Cold. Non-existent. Completely forgotten to a world that never even knew him. It was all too much. No... It wasn't true. It couldn't be. And yet... He was in denial, shaking his head again and again. He couldn't hear anything. Not even Madson trying to tell him something that was probably very important for him to hear. He felt his legs moving on their own, backing him away. He felt it again. That feeling that kept riding him all throughout the year. Light-headed, barely able to breathe, just barely able to see. Madson tried to follow him but froze, turning his head and yelling at someone in the ambulance but it was a little too late. Trevor collapsed, more out of sheer exhaustion and shock, a few medics rushing towards him as well as Mrs. Ann, one of the medics forcing and oxygen mask over his mouth and nose to help him breathe as he was struggling to do so anyways. 

The last thing he remembered before passing out was looking into the back of that ambulance and seeing his dead brother completely still on that gurney. 

 

 

 

The next few weeks fly by and Trevor is simply there to absorb it all.  

 

He wakes up in the hospital three days after his brother died. The doctors tell him that Trevor was literally starving and he's most likely been passing out, not only because he had no nutrients, but because his stomach was eating itself alive. He was given fluids, the finest food a hospital could offer and everything with a cherry on top. The nurses catered to his every need, although they were few, and he was discharged two days later after he had been given enough to eat so that he could properly function again. But he wasn't turned loose immediately. In fact, the officers from that night brought him in for questioning. They asked him how long his brother had been doing drugs. He replied 'four years', almost emotionless. They asked why he hadn't reported this. He replied 'Ryan was family' and 'He told me not to tell anyone.' They asked if he had taken any of these drugs and he said 'no', but of course, they didn't believe him. He sat through two polygraph tests, three other tests he couldn't remember and more. They claimed they wanted to find the drug dealer that supplied Ryan and Trevor couldn't care less. at the time, he was emotionally broken. He had no idea what to feel. No idea what to say in response to all of this. After five days of relentless questioning, they leave him be to mourn. But even then, he isn't done.

He's still seventeen and he won't be eighteen for quite a long time. Legally, he's not aloud to live alone. That's when Mrs. Ann steps in. She has been so worried about Trevor that she jumps all over the idea of watching over him until he turns eighteen. Trevor doesn't say anything in reply. He's too tired and he doesn't want to deal with anything like this in the first place. 'Get it done and you'll finally be left alone' he kept telling himself. He almost prayed he was right. Mrs. Ann takes him shopping for new clothes before they head to her house, which turns out to be fifteen minutes away from the school on foot compared to the thirty minutes it took him to walk from his original home to school. He isn't picky about what he buys. Generally plain clothing. As long as they fit, he didn't care. Mrs. Ann never pushed him to talk about it, never suggested he call her 'mom' or anything, never bothered him. She knew very well that he wanted to heal on his own and she even said he didn't have to go back to school until he was ready. She'd talk to Winters about it. As if that asshole cared.

Mrs. Ann's house is gorgeous. It's so neat, so perfect and clean. there are paintings everywhere. There's even an art studio in the back and Trevor could't deny that he liked it here. When she shows him his room and tells him that dinner will be in a few hours, he collapses into his bed and simply lays there, staring at absolutely nothing in particular. His room looks amazing, too. He has a king sized bed all to himself, a radio that was currently playing a song that he didn't really recognize. His dresser was small, but the closet made up for it. On the dresser was an alarm clock and a lamp that wasn't even plugged in. There are several pictures of sharks in this room along with other predators that seemingly stared at him, peering into his mind and reading every single fucking emotion he happened to be feeling.

  _It hurts_ , he keeps telling himself and it really fucking does. And now that he's alone, he can finally succumb to the emotion. As expected, he cries. He cries harshly, almost wishing he weren't alone, wishing Mrs. Ann or Ryan were right here. Wishing his mother was here. Wishing that even Michael was here and that he'd tell him it would be ok, even after everything, it would be ok. God, he wanted to see Michael so badly. He wanted to hear his movie quotes, wanted to see his ridiculous smile. Trevor even dared to imagine that the Jock was holding him close, petting his hair, consoling him. And that's what he fell asleep thinking. Hours later, Mrs. Ann brings his dinner up, setting it on the side table before brushing hair out of the broken teenagers face and giving a loving kiss on the forehead. She looks at him one last time before leaving him alone, shutting the door silently as Trevor dreamed about what would have happened if he had only been there to stop Ryan from making a terrible mistake. 

 

 

Trevor returns to school right when Christmas rolls around. Yes, it has been a while but Trevor can honestly say that he's missed it here. Weeks of staying with Mrs. Ann wasn't anything to grimace at, however. They would have every meal of the day together on weekends. On week days when Mrs. Ann had to work, he'd simply make whatever was in the pantry. By now, he's begun to gain some much needed weight. He has a lot more energy now and he's even back to making snarky remarks and grinning at everything violent and horrible. When Halloween happened, he didn't come out. He was still busy mourning in his room. A few days after, however, was when his new routine started. He'd wake up, eat break fast then either relax in the house, absentmindedly draw or watch whatever was on TV. He'd grown fond of shows such as 'Family Guy' and 'The Simpsons', and he didn't even spot the similarities. He violently would insist they were independent shows whether you liked it or not. He also quite enjoyed Animal Planet, Dateline on ID (more for murder shows like 'Deadly Women') and even game shows.

Ah, what was he saying? Back to school.

There isn't much of a welcome party when he returns and he didn't even really expect one. He gets berating from Mrs. Jane, uncomfortable gazes from Mr. Winters and he's pretty much ignored by everyone else. 

Well, except for Michael, of course. 

When Trevor sits down at lunch, he's almost pushed to the ground by the Jock who vomits a million questions at once. Trevor says that he'd rather not talk about it at school. By then, he's made a mistake. 

"Fine. you're coming to my house tonight."

"I can't, Mikey. It's weird, I know, but I'm chillin' at Mrs. Ann's right now and she'd get fucking worried if I didn't go home tonight."

"Then _I'm_ coming over." 

"Mikey." 

"Trevor." And the Canadian knows that he's lost by then. The rest of the day goes pretty smoothly from there and when Trevor Tells Mrs. Ann that Michael is coming over, she's almost elated. She loves having people over, she exclaimed so loudly, it hurt Trevor's ears. Her excitement was evident when school was finally over and Michael followed Trevor relentlessly to her house. 

"Hello, Mr. Townley." She greeted warmly, Michael nodding at her and saying 'hey' in return. She asks what they want for dinner and Trevor is about to say 'porkchops' but Michael cuts him off by practically shoving him upstairs, saying they'll come down when they're hungry. Trevor spits an insult at him and Michael just smirks, saying he wanted to talk, not eat. 

Walking into Trevor's room, Michael tosses his bag in a random corner before sitting down on Trevor's bed, giving him a suddenly sincere look. "I've been worried-fucking-sick, dude. Where have you been?" 

Trevor sighs. Sitting next to Michael, he explains everything despite how hard it is to do so. There'd be more to type here if the author knew exactly what to put down. 

"Shit, dude... I'm sorry. I heard someone keeled over in the trailer park, but... I didn't know. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was his fucking fault for doing exactly what I told him not to." He clenched his fists, huffing before deciding that changing the subject would be best for him. "So, whats up with you? Hmmm? What has the great Michael Townley been up to?"

"Me, ah... Nothing, really. Except, uh... Me and Amanda broke up..." 

"Finally! Fucking rid of that whore!!" 

"Hey!" Michael snapped before going silent and shrugging, suddenly giving a smile. "Well... You're not too far off."

"Well, who'd she fuck?"

"Don't know. She just said that he had more to offer than I did. didn't get a name as to who it was." 

"Fucking sucks."

"Yea." 

There's an awkward silence between them for a time as Michael takes in the look of Trevor's room. Trevor watches him again, suddenly lost in his facial features like before. Michael had a little bit of stubble now. Why he hadn't been shaving wasn't exactly obvious. Why Trevor even cared was beyond him. At least Michael's black eye from his scuffle with the bikers was completely gone. However, Trevor couldn't help but notice that his knuckle on his right hand was scarred from the gash that was there prior. He couldn't help himself. He'd move his hand closer to let his finger run over the scar, Michael whipping his head around to look curiously, eyes going from his hand to Trevor, the Canadian looking up simultaneously with the Jock. He could see Michael gulp, his Adam's Apple moving with the muscles in his throat. the action was mesmerizing for some reason, as anything Michael did anymore was completely absorbing.

"Y'know,I really missed you." Michael said suddenly, his green eyes wandering Trevor's face. The male made a face. "Why? I'm not special." 

"You are to me, dude." Michael said, almost shyly, gulping a second time. 

"Why?" Trevor asked again. 

"I dunno, fuck... I just... You're different. You make me feel, I dunno... Free-er, if that makes any sense."

"It really doesn't."

"Just shut up. Look... when we first started hanging out, I really liked being your friend. Really. You made me laugh at every fuckin' thing. Even when we'd argue, you still ended up making me laugh. You're the only one who listens to me, who get's me. I kept thinkin', 'wow, this guy is pretty great' and I thought we'd be pals forever. But... That night at the movie theater, when we kissed, I felt it. A spark, if you wanna call it. I felt like... you really are the only person who made me feel this way. Not even Amanda made me feel so good." Michael would scoot the tiniest bit closer to Trevor, the Canadian suddenly feeling claustrophobic, as he had absolutely nothing to say at the moment. 

"And every day after that kiss... I kept thinking that... Maybe I... I _liked_ you..." Trevor felt his face heat up again. Fuck Michael and his flame super power. "And every time I thought about it more, I realized that I did actually like you. I'm not sure in what way, but... You mean a lot to me. I told you things I've never even told Amanda. I trust you."

"You shouldn't."

"Why not?"

"'Cause I'm not a person to trust. I'm pretty dangerous, Mike."

"Bullshit."

"Fuck you, Michael, so what if you tell me things? I tell you things. I tell you a lot of things. Because _I_ trust _you_. " 

"Thanks for proving my point." Fuck. 

They'd sit in silence another few minutes before a question perked in Trevor's mind. He didn't give himself permission to ask it, but it happened regardless. "So, what do we do about it?" 

"I dunno. I guess you could let me kiss you again." 

"You're a horny bastard."

"I never said we'd fuck, Trevor, I said that we'd kiss." He had him again. Trevor looked Michael right in the eyes, wondering exactly what he should do. Should he make an excuse to leave? An excuse for Michael to leave? An excuse for-- Wait, that was a hand. that was definitely a hand on his cheek. This was confirmed as Michael rubbed his suddenly hot flesh with his thumb, green eyes looking at him dreamily. There was a lot happening right now and it was going a bit too fast for Trevor to handle. Hell, the author was having a hard time dealing with it. It was irritating. He hated Michael. Michael was an asshole, by all accounts, but for some reason, Trevor loved that. He **really** fucking loved that. He was feeling angry all over again. Michael could see this, as his face went stern. "Quit glaring at me."

"Quit molesting me."

"You aren't exactly stopping me."

"Do you want me to?"

"Do _you_ want to?" God dammit. "No, but I will if you don't fuckin' do something."

"Fine, I will."

"Do it."

"I am."

"Fuckin' Townley, I swear-" Just as promised, Michael smashed their lips together for the second time, his hand holding onto Trevor's head tightly. Trevor gripped Michael's side's as he gave a growl, his body responding in a way he was absolutely not used to. Yet, he liked it. Apparently, so did Michael, as he chuckled, his free hand rubbing Trevor's side up and down as the kiss deepened just like before. However, this time when Michael attempted to shove his tongue in the Canadian teens mouth, Trevor almost beat him to it, his own wet muscle meeting the other. With a groan slipping from the both of them, their tongues started to wrestle in a rather erotic battle for dominance, the hand resting on Trevor's cheek moving down to his hips to grab them tightly as the Canadian wrapped one arm around the Jocks neck, the other wrapping halfway around his side as his hand gripped Michael's dumb Letterman. 

Giving a louder, almost lusting groan, Trevor somehow made it on top of Michael's lap, the Jock giving a pleased laugh as his calloused hands slid up the Canadian's shirt a bit. Feeling sudden cold on his skin, Trevor pulled away from the kiss with a whine, his body shivering as he panted heavily, their foreheads resting against one another. God, that felt so fucking _good_. The feeling rising in his stomach was so startling, so pleasuring it made the degenerate groan. Fuck, it only got worse when Michael lunged for his neck, kissing at it, sucking and even biting down on the tender skin. The feeling made Trevor give a yelp before he tossed his head back, giving the quarterback free access to whatever he felt he needed. Michael, quite pleased by this, attacked the exposed skin, his hands traveling further up the frailer males shirt and feeling every bit of skin he could. Fuck, Trevor fucking  ** _loved_** every second. He loved the pain that came with the occasional bites. He loved his skin being touched and, fuck, he'd sound needy when he'd say he loved the attention. He was rather cut off guard as Michael practically tossed him to the side, the mattress creaking slightly as Trevor's back hit it. He already missed the treatment he was being given but he quickly forgot about it as Michael kissed him again, his arms wrapping around the Jock's neck as his legs seemed to instinctively spread, Michael asserting himself between them as if he belonged there. 

But, it was over way too soon. 

"Boys! I'm making Spaghetti and Meatballs, do you want some?" 

Reluctantly, they pulled apart from each other, panting harshly. Trevor  grit his teeth before calling back. "No, we're good." 

"Alright. Let me know if you're hungry!" 

Trevor desperately wanted to continue where they left off. his body was begging for it. It was obvious from the near tent he had pitched in his pants. Giving an irritated growl, he looked at Michael who couldn't seem to get his eyes off of him. "You'd better get off me-" 

He gasped as Michael pressed his own 'problem' against Trevor's, bucking his hips once to force their excitements to rub together, a moan erecting from both of them. Michael, deciding he liked the friction, continued to do this, Trevor panting and whimpering like a fucking school girl loosing her virginity as they rutted together, the Canadian's long legs wrapping around Michael's kind of wide waist. Burying his face in the Jocks shoulder, Trevor moaned and whined, Michael choosing to grunt and pant into Trevor's ear which only excited the younger male even more. As they were brought closer to the edge, their minds lost in an erotic haze, Michael quickened his pace, their bulges rubbing against each other roughly and swift, Trevor resorting to moaning loudly into the shoulder he buried his face in. Loosing all composer, Michael bit down on the younger males neck hard, almost enough to break the skin as he reached his limit in hi pants, Trevor following in suit as his threw his head back with a gasp. 

Caught in a euphoric haze, the two remained laying against each other until Michael found his wet pants to be rather uncomfortable. Climbing off the Canadian, the stood, his knee's wobbling a bit as he panted, looking around the room for a moment before glancing back at Trevor, who realized just how uncomfortable wet pants actually were and was sitting up by now, sweat shining on his bitten neck. "You got any spare pants?"

"Mikey, you are about 75% muscle, a factor in your body that I do not have. I really doubt you'd fit into my jeans." 

"Ah, right..." Michael panted. He glanced around again before he looked back at Trevor, a smile creasing onto his lips. "You think Mrs. Ann will let me spend the night?"

And Trevor couldn't help but smile either. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry the end was so short. I was so excited to write about them rutting like deer that I forgot exactly what I wanted to write before I even wanted them to do so. 
> 
> Sorrynotsorry.
> 
> It will DEFINITELY get more intense in the next chapter. Promise. Intense sexually? Intense criminally? Intense Artistically?
> 
> I'll never tell. 
> 
> Have a good night!


End file.
